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Updated: May 14, 2025
"Do they get that ten cents an hour?" asked Miss Taylor. "Oh, I don't know," replied Mr. Bocombe; "but suppose they do, for instance. That is an average wage today." "They look lazy," said Mrs. Grey. "They are lazy," said Mr. Cresswell. "So am I," added Mrs. Vanderpool, suppressing a yawn. "It is uninteresting," murmured her husband, preparing for a nap.
Cresswell," said Miss Smith, slowly but very distinctly, "because his relation to the forces of evil in this community has been such that he can direct no school of mine." Mrs. Vanderpool moved toward the door and Mr. Cresswell bowing slightly followed. Dr. Boldish looked indignant and Mr. Bocombe dove after his note-book. Mary Taylor, her head in a whirl, came forward.
"Clever, but not true to life," he said. Finally the clergyman and Mr. Bocombe, Mrs. Grey and Mrs. Vanderpool and Miss Taylor started for the school, with Harry Cresswell, about an hour after lunch. The delay and suppressed excitement among the little folks had upset things considerably there, but at the sight of the visitors at the gate Miss Smith rang the bell.
"How practical!" he said. "Can you not stop and see some of the classes?" Sarah Smith knew in her heart that the visit was a failure, still she would do her part to the end. "I doubt if we shall have time," Mrs. Grey returned, as they walked on. "Mr. Cresswell expects friends to dinner." "What a magnificent intelligence office," remarked Mr. Bocombe, "for furnishing servants to the nation.
Faith's rich parish to be one of the party, and at the last moment Temple Bocombe, the sociologist, consented to join. "Awfully busy," he said, "but I've been reading up on the Negro problem since you mentioned the matter to me last week, Mr. Cresswell, and I think I understand it thoroughly. I may be able to help out."
The necessary spice of young womanhood was added to the party by Miss Taylor and Miss Cresswell, together with the silent Miss Boldish. They were a comfortable and sometimes merry party. Dr. Boldish pointed out the loafers at the stations, especially the black ones; Mr. Bocombe counted them and estimated the number of hours of work lost at ten cents an hour.
Grey was only too glad to escape and Mr. Bocombe got a chance to talk. He drew out his note-book. "Awfully interesting," he said, "awfully. Now er let's see oh, yes. Did you notice how unhealthy the children looked? Race is undoubtedly dying out; fact. No hope. Weak. No spontaneity either rather languid, did you notice? Yes, and their heads small and narrow no brain capacity.
Not one of these little things alone would have been worth more than a glance, but together, they became mighty, portentous. Mr. Bocombe got out his note-book and wrote furiously therein. Dr. Boldish, naturally the appointed spokesman, looked helplessly about and whispered to Mrs. Vanderpool: "What on earth shall I talk about?" "The brotherhood of man?" suggested the lady.
"We are to visit the school this morning, you know," she reminded the others, looking at her watch; "I'm afraid we're late already." The remark created mild consternation. It seemed that Mr. Vanderpool had gone hunting and his wife had not yet arisen. Dr. Boldish was very hoarse, Mr. Easterly was going to look over some plantations with Colonel Cresswell, and Mr. Bocombe was engrossed in a novel.
It wavered on the air and almost broke, then swelled in sweet, low music. Other and stronger voices gathered themselves to it, until two hundred were singing a soft minor wail that gripped the hearts and tingled in the ears of the hearers. Mr. Bocombe groped with a puzzled expression to find the pocket for his note-book; Harry Cresswell dropped his eyes, and on Mrs.
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