‚ÄúOh, no; we can. But‚ÅÝ‚Äîwe‚Äôre not‚ÅÝ‚Äîer‚ÅÝ‚Äîexactly welcomed. In fact,‚Äù said Cresswell gravely, ‚Äúthe chief criticism I have against your Northerners‚Äô schools for Negroes is, that they not only fail to enlist the sympathy and aid of the best Southerners, but even repel it.‚Äù
‚ÄúThat is very wrong‚ÅÝ‚Äîvery wrong,‚Äù commented the Englishman warmly, a sentiment in which Mrs. ¬ÝGrey hastened to agree.
“Of course,” continued Cresswell, “I am free to confess that I have no personal desire to dabble in philanthropy, or conduct schools of any kind; my hands are full of other matters.”
‚ÄúBut it‚Äôs precisely the advice of such disinterested men that philanthropic work needs,‚Äù Mr. ¬ÝVanderpool urged.
‚ÄúWell, I volunteered advice once in this case and I shan‚Äôt repeat the experiment soon,‚Äù said Cresswell laughing. Mrs. ¬ÝGrey wanted to hear the incident, but the young man was politely reluctant. Mary Taylor, however, related the tale of Zora to Mrs. ¬ÝGrey‚Äôs private ear later.
‚ÄúFortunately,‚Äù said Mr. ¬ÝVanderpool, ‚ÄúNortherners and Southerners are arriving at a better mutual understanding on most of these matters.‚Äù
“Yes, indeed,” Cresswell agreed. “After all, they never were far apart, even in slavery days; both sides were honest and sincere.”
All through the dinner Mr. ¬ÝSmith had been preoccupied and taciturn. Now he abruptly shot a glance at Cresswell.
“I suppose that one was right and one was wrong.”
“No,” said Cresswell, “both were right.”