The winter started in severely, and it was easy to fill two private cars with members of the new Negro Education Board right after Thanksgiving. Cresswell had worked carefully and with caution. There was Mrs. ¬ÝGrey, comfortable and beaming, Mr. ¬ÝEasterly, who thought this a good business opportunity, and his family. Mrs. ¬ÝVanderpool liked the South and was amused at the trip, and had induced Mr. ¬ÝVanderpool to come by stories of shooting.
‚ÄúAh!‚Äù said Mr. ¬ÝVanderpool.
Mr. ¬ÝCharles Smith and John Taylor were both too busy to go, but bronchial trouble induced the Rev. ¬Ý Dr. ¬ÝBoldish of St. ¬ÝFaith‚Äôs rich parish to be one of the party, and at the last moment Temple Bocombe, the sociologist, consented to join.
‚ÄúAwfully busy,‚Äù he said, ‚Äúbut I‚Äôve been reading up on the Negro problem since you mentioned the matter to me last week, Mr. ¬ÝCresswell, and I think I understand it thoroughly. I may be able to help out.‚Äù
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. ¬ÝBoldish pointed out the loafers at the stations, especially the black ones; Mr. ¬ÝBocombe counted them and estimated the number of hours of work lost at ten cents an hour.
‚ÄúDo they get that‚ÅÝ‚Äîten cents an hour?‚Äù asked Miss Taylor.
‚ÄúOh, I don‚Äôt know,‚Äù replied Mr. ¬ÝBocombe; ‚Äúbut suppose they do, for instance. That is an average wage today.‚Äù
‚ÄúThey look lazy,‚Äù said Mrs. ¬ÝGrey.
‚ÄúThey are lazy,‚Äù said Mr. ¬ÝCresswell.