Meantime in the office of Senator Smith, toward which Mr. ¬ÝEasterly was making his way, several members of the National Republican campaign committee had been closeted the day before.
“Now, about the niggers,” the chairman had asked; “how much more boodle do they want?”
“That’s what’s bothering us,” announced a member; “it isn’t the boodle crowd that’s hollering, but a new set, and I don’t understand them; I don’t know what they represent, nor just how influential they are.”
“What can I do to help you?” asked Senator Smith.
‚ÄúThis. You are here at Washington with these Negro officeholders at your back. Find out for us just what this revolt is, how far it goes, and what good men we can get to swing the darkies into line‚ÅÝ‚Äîsee?‚Äù
“Very good,” the Senator acquiesced. He called in a spectacled man with bushy eyebrows and a sleepy look.
“I want you to work the Negro political situation,” directed the Senator, “and bring me all the data you can get. Personally, I’m at sea. I don’t understand the Negro of today at all; he puzzles me; he doesn’t fit any of my categories, and I suspect that I don’t fit his. See what you can find out.”
The man went out, and the Senator turned to his desk, then paused and smiled. One day, not long since, he had met a colored person who personified his perplexity concerning Negroes; she was a lady, yet she was black‚ÅÝ‚Äîthat is, brown; she was educated, even cultured, yet she taught Negroes; she was quiet, astute, quick and diplomatic‚ÅÝ‚Äîeverything, in fact, that ‚ÄúNegroes‚Äù were not supposed to be; and yet she was a ‚ÄúNegro.‚Äù She had given him