IC-NRLF
35
LIBRARY
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA
DAVIS
The "Passin'-On" Party
An house . . . made with hands :
The
"Passin'-On" Party
BY
EFFIE GRAHAM
With Illustrations by
DOROTHY DULIN
(SECOND EDITION)
CHICAGO
A. C. McCLURG & CO
1912
TT>T> A
Copyright
A. C. McCLURG & CO.
1912
Published September, 1912
W. r. HALL PRINTING COMPANY, CHICAGO
PREFACE
THIS is a story of a people, one
time slaves and bondsmen, now
f ree-tongued freeholders in a western
land: the old new type, adopted and
adapted. They combine all the "heart-
tellin's " and simple faith of slave days,
with the oratorical habit and view-
holding propensities of their environ-
ment. It is to be expected, therefore,
that these Kansas "Jayhawkers" —
full-pinioned, though of a duskier hue
— should dispraise fearlessly many of
their own race frailties, as well as
those of " dem white folks dey circles
wif."
THE AUTHOR.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
004&, "AN HOUSE . . MADE WITH HANDS" 3
CHAPTER TWO
"PARTY HANKERIN' " 33
CHAPTER THREE
THE "PASSIN'-ON" OF THE COLORED
GUESTS 63
CHAPTER FOUR
"DE WHITE FOLKS I CIRCLES WIF" . . 89
CHAPTER FIVE
WHERE SOCIAL CIRCLES INTERSECT . .115
CHAPTER SIX
"GOD-GlVEN-INITIES" 139
ILLUSTRATIONS
Page
"An house made with hands" . .
Frontispiece
The garden 16
"I don' sot no sto' by dat way of curin'
rheum'tiz" 44
'''You all kin has you' own way" ... 58
"Dem pins suah b'long in de Bad Place" 72
Fixing his eyes on the dusky face, the
singer began 74
"You could be decent enough to those
darkies — but I'm another story" . no
Aunt June watched this finished product
cross her humble floor 118
Feet tapping, bodies swaying, their eyes
running over 168
Unk Jerry's head bent low as the healing.
words flowed on . 182
Chapter One
O04&, "An house . . . made
with hands"
The "Passin'-On" Party
CHAPTER I
004&, "AN HOUSE . . MADE
WITH HANDS"
IF YOU were twenty, the house
where the party was " give " would
have made you laugh ; but if you were
fifty, well, you might have laughed
with your mouth but not with your
eyes. Something would get into them
as you looked at the place — dust may-
be, but 'twas more like dew.
The house was such an architectural
nondescript; so insolently indifferent
to appearance, yet withal so appealing,
[3]
The Passin'-On Party
that few passed it without concern,
nor failed to recall it with interest.
It was the home of two old col-
ored people, ex-slaves, Aunt June and
Uncle Jerry Ferguson ("Unk Junk,"
for boys), as they were familiarly
called. They had built this house with
their own hands, in odd times after
work hours, out of any available mate-
rial. Some of it had been picked up
along the Kaw River bank, or the rail-
road tracks ; much of it had been solic-
ited, haggled, or flattered from their
employers, the town white folks. As
this was a Kansas town where resi-
dence renovation was frequent, mar-
velous architectural effects were pro-
duced when the cast-off portions of
the better homes took honored place
in the humbler habitat.
The Passin'-On Party
It had a tin roof, had this mansion,
OO4& on Yam Avenue. Albeit some
of the flattened-out tin cans that
formed it had once borne lustier corn
on their outer covering than in their
sealed-up-ness, who shall say they did
not compensate now by the honest roof
they made?
" Dat wuz de dry year, I puttin' dat
kivver on, an' folks used a heap o' can'
stuff," Unk Jerry elucidatingly said.
" Toted piles of 'em from Mis' Stileses
boa'din' house. Mistah Walters, he
smile when I show him dis ruf . ' Ef
yo-all needin' mo' tin, Unk,' he say,
' I '11 loan you my stomick linin'. I 'm
not usin' it.' He boa'ded at Mis'
Stileses. Dat biggest, newest patch
over dar come from Mis' Jawson's.
Her ole man broke up.
[5]
The Passin'-On Party
" Jes' so dis ruf sheds de rain offun
us ! Po' niggers lak we-uns moughty
thankful we don' have to sleep under
deeshpans an' warsh tubs for kivvers,
some dese here rainy nights, I 'm tellin'
you ! Mis' Slautah, a culled lady dat
lives in a rented house, she say she
done kotch 'nuff watah on de baid in
her tub to start de warsh. Naw, suh !
Dis heah house ain' no Priest o' Pal-
las, but we done kotch our rain watah
on de outside anyhow, bress Gawd ! "
But the walls outshone the roof in
originality. They were a mosaic or
a patchwork, accordingly as your idea
of conglomerate surface was obtained
from the study of art, or from remem-
bering the covering of your old trun-
dle-bed back in Ohio. A part of one
side was mad^ of rejected pavement
[6]
The Passin'-On Party
brick. Since the city " suspector " was
not "suspecting" on a certain May
morning when old Jerry's building
instinct sent him forth, bird-like, after
material, this was the most substantial
part of the structure. It was marred
only by the fact that Unk's masonry,
guiltless of plumb-line, bulged in some
spots and receded modestly in others.
This made the little house, as viewed
from the front, seem to be suffering
from the mumps, or waiting for its
jaws to settle sufficiently to get a new
set of teeth, both at one and the same
time. The remainder of the shanty
was a mixture of weather-boarding,
shingles, window frames, shutters, and
two-by-fours, all put on regardless of
regularity, color, shape, previous serv-
itude, or present appearance.
[7]
The Passin'-On Party
It was the front of the residence,
however, protruding its monstrosi-
ties into your face as you passed by,
that was at once the despair of local
architects and the target of curious
sightseers, as well as the delight and
well-spring of pleasure to the two old
black folk. They had pooled their in-
dustry, acquisitiveness, and social
knowledge in the construction of this
portion of the dwelling.
The material had been gathered
from the wreck of some box cars, the
red of the boards crossed at irregular
intervals by the white bands of car
decoration. Conspicuously placed near
the middle of the front were the large
white figures, 00482:, once a part of
the car number. It was Aunt June's
idea. When Unk brought the boards
[8]
The Passin'-On Party
into the yard and began to nail them
up, she said: "Heah, now, ole man!
Le's us hev figgers on our house,
lak white folks. Den I kin tell 'em
whar I lives, too, jes' lak a suah 'miff.
Laws! I hear'n 'em all sayin' it to-
gether, boasty lak, at parties whar I 'm
holpin' : ' I lives at 91 1 Big Bug Bou-
levard. Come an' see me.' Jes' lak
to let 'em know dat I got figgers, too,
an' mine heap bigger 'n their'n."
" Don' go for to wearyin' 'bout dem
upsticken' folks nohow, Juny," was
Unk's slow response. "I'll puttin'
dese ole figgers to suit you-all, suah I
will. Dese short boa'ds am moughty
scrumptious heah whar I gwine put
dat li'l hang-bird porch dat ol' Mistah
Luddahman done give me."
That the number on the small
[9]
The Passin'-On Party
house should begin with the utterly
meaningless "oo" never disturbed
Unk, nor that the ending should be
the symbol of more to come. Indeed,
some were mean enough to think that
the reposeful attitude of the " & " was
a suitable coat of arms for the lord and
master of the "Hand-Made House"
on Yam Avenue.
So, under the "oo," "whar de short
boards come," was placed the little
hang-bird porch. This was Unk's
name for the small Juliet balcony,
which had been given him when the
old Ludderman house was displaced by
the new one.
" ' Pow'ful fine li'l porch, dat, Mis-
tah Luddahman/ I say," went on old
Junk to Juny. "' 'Taint no reg'lar
porch/ he say, ' an' Miss Dor'thy don'
[10]
The Passin'-On Party
wan' it no more. Jes' a Ju-ly-et Bal-
cony/ he say.
"'Law, dat make no difference to
my Juny, Mistah Luddahman ; she set
ez hard in a July porch ez in a June
one. She would n't want a Winter one,
of co'se; she's pow'ful fash'n'ble,' I
say. An' he say, ' Take it along, Unk.'
Then he say sompin' about July-ets
comin' in 'sorted colors an' sizes, any-
how.
" ' Dis suit me plenty,' I say. 'Ain't
'ticulah 'bout colors, nohow. I seed
plenty white women don' match der
porch color. My Juny moughty fash-
'n'ble, too, but, Ian' sake, she can't fix
her color up lak white woman. She has
to take de tints de good Lawd sorted
out for her. Reckon she's same way
wif porches."
The Passin'-On Party
And so it was that in the center of
the box car front, neither covering a
window, nor sheltering a door, was
placed the little hang-bird porch from
the like of which so many stage beau-
ties have leaned to catch the ardent
love-making of their Romeos. To see
Jerry perched in it on a summer eve-
ning,— Aunt June refused to occupy
it on account of her weight, — was to
fail forever to appreciate the tender
scene behind the footlights. On such
evenings the old woman preferred a
seat on the low doorstep of the mot-
ley mansion where, with her spacious
back to her up-hung Romeo, and with
her fancy freer than that of Shake-
speare's heroine, she proudly surveyed
her surroundings.
Although the house was largely Unk
[12]
The Passin'-On Party
Junk's handiwork, the yard, even to
(he fence about it, was surely Aunt
June's own. To her it owed its wealth
of horticultural outlawry, and its bar-
baric decoration. 'Twas she who had
begged the plants and flowers and
toted them home. 'Twas her hand that
planted, watered, and coaxed them into
bloom. From her lips, too, came those
quasi-philosophic tellings of where,
and how, and of whom she obtained the
riches of her garden spot.
Many a stranger, attracted by the
quaint charm of the place, or patron,
lured by the hope of decent laundry,
halted to listen as she fondly pointed
out her treasures, and went away
chuckling at the strange truth and
humor of her talk.
"Yes, suh, my fence take me right
[13]
The Passin'-On Party
smaht spell, but I guess 'twill las' me,"
she would say. "Got all kin's, too,"
referring to what appeared to be a
line of samples abandoned by a travel-
ing fence man.
And such a fence! Woven wire
clutched its metal tendrils about paw-
paw stakes. Discarded bank fixtures
neighbored the wooden slats from a
corn crib. Cellar gratings clasped
hands with ornamental pickets.
Barbed wire snarled its way through
it all and held the motley mass to
the task of guarding the dooryard of
" Ole Aunt June." She knew about
it, too, every splinter of it.
"You-all askin' 'bout dem white
pickets over dar," she would say. "All
dem pickets done come from de bury-
in'-yard. Dem one-p'inted ones from
[14]
The Passin'-On Party
'roun' ole Gunnel Mosley's first wife;
dem two-p'int pickets from 'roun' de
secon' wife. Lan'! When de third
wife see dem p'ints, how she cave
'roun'! 'Don' ketch me behin' no
three-p'int pickets/ she say; 'first
notch or none/ she say.
" Cou'se, de first Miss Mosley's chil-
lun ain' done givin' up de one p'int,
so Gunnel he jes' natchally taken
'em all out, to keep down de peace.
" Dat 's huccom dey 's diff 'unt," went
on the historian. " But moughty han'-
some fence, honey ! Rech clean across
de front, jes' for two wives. 'Lan',
Gunnel!' I say, 'you young man yit.
I 'spects ef dey gives you time 'nuff,
you have to t'row 'way 'nuff fence to
go cl'ar 'roun' my whole yard/ I
tell 'im."
[15]
The Passin'-On Party
One hoped that the Colonel might be
providentially removed before he suc-
ceeded in discarding enough grave-
yard fence to displace the tangled mas-
terpiece that now straggled about the
little enclosure. For the fence suited
the yard. The first impression on view-
ing it was that of a half-pleasing,
half-offending jumble of greenery and
gleaming color; of bush and vine; of
vegetable and blooming flower; of
kitchen ware, crockery, and defunct
household furniture. A marvelous
mixture it was, of African jungle,
city park, and town dump.
It was easy to see, however, that
flowers dominated the herbaceous tan-
gle. They were everywhere and of
every kind. Neither order nor rank
defined their placing. Old-fashioned
[16]
The garden
The Passin'-On Party
garden bloom jostled hot-house prod-
uct, and the flower of the field usurped
at will the place of either. There were
no stars, nor crescents, nor massed
backgrounds, but all grew contentedly
in democratic confusion, wherever
Aunt June's hoe or delving shoe toe
had found a place for them on some
tired eventime.
One noted, too, the unique recepta-
cles for growing plants. Modern flo-
rists trust their treasures to the tender
bosom of Mother Earth; but not so
Aunt June. She elevated her darlings
in every conceivable manner. Mari-
golds bloomed in butter kits, and ge-
raniums glowed in punctured " deesh-
pans." Fair Easter lilies were upheld
by insolent punch-bowls, and johnny-
jump-ups were ensconced in baby bug-
[17]
The Passin'-On Party
gies. Therein they all blossomed on,
serenely unconscious of the Mardi
Gras parade they made as they gaily
shared our glee or dared our disap-
proval.
"Seem lak dem li'l jum'-pups suah
do enjoy demselves crowdin' each other
'roun' in dat ole baby carriage," Aunt
June would say. "Dem blue-eyed
flowers make me reco-mem-ber Mis'
Jedge Cartwright's chillun I use to
push 'roun' in dat ole baby buggy. De
two las' chillun, Miss Nina an' Miss
Grace, fine young ladies now, an' de
flowers of de flock. Sammy, he big
man, too. Gone off to Warshington,
Corn-grass-man, papah say; but, Ian'
sake ! he wa' n't no farmer heah, I tole
him.
" ' Sammy,' I say, when he standin'
[18]
The Passin'-On Party
heah one day, ' Seem lak I hear'n you
squallin' yit when you-all tumble outen
dat ole buggy on yo' haid.'
" 'I 'm still at de f allin', Aunty, but
have to cut out de squallin' now,'
Sammy say, quiet lak. ' Moughty fine
ole buggy, Aunt June. Take good keer
of you' johnny-jum'-pups. Don' cheat
'em out of de bloomin' time. Dey
cain't do dat after while.' Sam do suah
make long speeches sence he gone to
Warshington.
" Whose dat other baby carriage
dar wif de white flowers hangin' over
de sides? Dat's ole Mis' Preachah
Newton's onliest li'l gal's, what 's daid.
Mis' Newton say, 'You-all take dat
buggy home wif you, Aunt June. I
cain't stand to see it 'roun' an' other
babies ridin' in it.' So I plant dem
[19]
The Passin'-On Party
white posies in it. Just budded good
when Mis' Newton come heah, Mo-
moral Day. She lookin' hawd at dem
li'l buds an' she say, ' Don't pull dem
po' li'l things yet, Aunt June. Dey
would be scairt out'en de cemete'y, all
alone. Keep 'em twell dey bloom out
full, an' give 'em to some li'l chile
what 's po'. An' I allus does.
" Lan' sake ! dat nex' onliest kid o'
hern, dat Ralph Newton, he don' git
none my flowers! He suah ack lak
only son. Brekin' in heah an' tear in'
up Jack, trompin' down flowers, only "
— dropping her voice — "he — nevah
— teched — dat — littles' baby buggy
— where dem white flowers is.
" Dat beeg brack thing wif de ferm
in, clean back under dat bursh ? Lak
know how you-all spy dat out? Beat
[20]
The Passin'-On Party
all 'bout yo' eyes peerin' 'roun'. I
ain' no lady joint-keeper ! "
After this digression, by which
Aunt June showed her complete right
to citizenship in her adopted State, the
talk went on.
" Dat 's ole Marse Molton's ole iron
warsh pot. Used to scald hawgs in
it and cook Indian mess an' free bar-
berry-cue mess for niggers 'lection
times.
" Plenty o' ' Gov'ment Drops ' in de
jugs, too, dem days. None of de f am'ly
lef ' no mo', 'cept Miss Liza. She nevah
f oun' her no ole man. She don' necis-
sitate much cookin' no mo', an' she
given me dat ole pot. ' Plant sompin'
in it, so's you-all reco-mem-ber me,
Aunt June,' she say. 'I certain suah
done dat/ I say. So I plant dat ferm
[21]
The Passin'-On Party
— maiden-haih-ferm, dey call it. Dat
suah suit ole Miss Liza."
Near Auntie's elbow, as she sat on
the step, was a blossom-filled urn that
attracted more attention by the bril-
liancy of its burden than by its own
beauty. 'Twas an old brass cuspidor,
elevated on a stair spindle, and holding
a wealth of bright-eyed four-o'clocks,
with trailing morning glories. It had
been fished out of the ashes after the
burning of the Capital Hotel, many
years ago, having graced the lobby of
that famous holding place for Kan-
sas politics, where, it is said, Govern-
ors and United States Senators were
made or unmade to order. Of all this
Aunt June was beautifully ignorant,
as became her sex.
"'What's dis?' one of dem poli-
[22]
The Passin'-On Party
tickle genTmen ask, who see dat box
-when he come heah to git some white
vestes warshed. ' Whar you git dis ? ' 3
" ' Ole Cap'tal spit box/ I say. Den
he jes' march 'roun' an' 'roun' dat
thing, an' look at it fru his one spec',
an' don' know whether he bettah laugh
er cry."
"'Well, ole frien', he say, 'didn'
'spect to fin' you-all heah. Lost yo'
ole job, lak some mo' folks, did you?
Plenty of flowers bloomin' 'roun' you
in dem ole days. Talk flowers ! Bright-
es' in Kansas/ he say."
Easily the most conspicuous thing
in the yard, and one highly prized by
Aunt June, was a mound near the
gate. Here, on a rounded pile of earth,
was displayed such a collection of bro-
ken chinaware and glittering, bright-
[23]
The Passin'-On Party
colored glass as has not greeted your
eyes since you looked last on your old
playhouse. Not the new carpenter-
made mansion, but the kind that was
popular on the thither side of the Mis-
sissippi, in the days before Santa Claus
had become an excuse for jamming
children's lives full of real toys, to the
starvation of the imagination.
On this mound were crippled cream
pitchers, hotel gravy boats, lamp chim-
neys, whisky bottles, bar-room fixtures,
gay bits of glass from a memorial
window, crowned by the shattered re-
mains of an old stovepipe, straight,
upright, ready for action. Blessed re-
minder was this of the elemental child-
hood in us all, and especially of the
continuous childhood of the race to
which Aunt June belonged.
[24]
The Passin'-On Party
Pleased with a rattle, tickled with a straw.
'Tis not the modern youngster,
though, to whom all this appeals. This
was evidenced one evening when Ralph
Newton, the privileged "only son" of
Mrs. Preacher Newton, whose baby
carriage now held the white flowers,
led his band of senior high-school fel-
lows in a grand charge upon the little
place. Decayed vegetables were the
missiles of the preliminary skirmish.
One particularly odorous cabbage-head
missed old Unk's petrified pate and,
landing between Aunt June's shoul-
ders, made future trouble for Ralph,
the young leader of the gang.
As if this were not sufficient, the
charge was renewed in the night time,
with the result that much mischief was
done in the little yard. The old baby
[25]
The Passin'-On Party
buggy that had once held pretty Nina
Cartwright in some mysterious man-
ner appeared next morning in the cen-
ter of the high-school rostrum, when
the speaker arose at the class-day ex-
ercises to give his final advice to the
graduating class.
Poor Ralph Newton ! His perfectly
good Y. M. C. A. alibi ignored by the
unreasonable school board, his diploma
denied him, and, what was far worse,
his name immediately "scratched"
from the waiting list of the offended
Nina Cartwright, class beauty and his
senior-year sweetheart! Small won-
der that his appreciation of Aunt June
and her residence must come with time,
as we shall later see.
Great place for reminiscence, for
laughter, and for tears, was old Aunt
[26]
The Passin'-On Party
June's crazy patch of a house, with the
crazier yard and exasperating fence
about it. Laughter when you entered,
reminiscence if you lingered, but low-
ered voices when you paused to bid
good-by to Aunt June and Uncle Jerry.
It was their home — the best they
knew. Though the material was in-
congruous, it had been borne hither on
backs that ached from the day's task.
Though the architecture was unspeak-
able, the building hand dusky and all
untoolwise, yet the touch was tender
and the plumb lines were the heart-
strings of loyal, loving, simple folk.
This a cabin ? Nay, this was a shrine.
Here were offered up human toil,
human hopes and sacrifices — fit ele-
ments in every true home, be its
builder black or white, its material
[27]
The Passin'-On Party
marble or mongrel, its location Gov-
ernor's Square or Yam Avenue.
Hats off to all such home building!
Better far is it than the shiftless ten-
ant habit, or moving distemper, or flat-
dwelling foolishness that makes for ir-
responsible citizens, childless homes,
and homeless children. This, then, is
the message of the little sprawling
habitation of old Aunt June and Uncle
Jerry at OO4&.
Though the Commercial Club never
drove location-seekers past this resi-
dence, the little lane-like street was
popular, nevertheless. Many of the
old-time townspeople came that way,
and their interest in the place, as well
as their cordial greetings, were much
appreciated by the old couple, whom
we left some pages back, sitting before
[28]
The Passin'-On Party
the mansion, to see the procession pass.
Especially was this a season of re-
freshing to the soul of old Aunt June.
In her heart a lover of the formalities
of life, she was fond of "fash'n'ble
folks," as Unk Junk on occasions half--
tauntingly said.
Indeed, it was this weakness of hers
that finally led to the giving of the
" Passin' - On - Party " at the cabin —
which function, as planned and car-
ried out by a group of the town's young
people, was the occasion of as much
back-porch wireless as any event that
ever splashed our social pool.
This is how it happened.
[29]
Chapter Two
"Party Hankerin'
CHAPTER II
"PARTY HANKERIN'"
AUNT JUNE was seriously ill.
Too many " warshin's " in damp
basements, and too much sitting out in
the dooryard after, had allowed her
old foe, rheumatism, to have its way.
She had suffered for some weeks.
Although Uncle Jerry had given her
"doctah drops" faithfully as pre-
scribed, and although her friends,
white and colored, had not allowed
her to lack any comfort, still she lay
weak and ill in her small cabin through-
out the early Summer.
Her condition was apparent to a lit-
tle group who gathered in the shanty
[33]
The Passin'-On Party
on a late afternoon of one of these try-
ing days. There were Nina and Grace
Cartwright, who had been supplanted
but not eclipsed in beauty by the blos-
soms in the outdoor baby buggy ; Dor-
othy Ludderman, whose father had
contributed the Juliet balcony to the
cabin's adornment; old Dr. Barman,
who had cared for Aunt June without
charge; and last, though not always
to be so ranked, was poor, old, half-
broken-hearted Uncle Jerry.
When the girls entered the cabin,
they found the doctor standing at the
side of the bed — big four-post affair
— in whose cavernous depths, with
eyes half closed in apparent sleep, lay
a very much shrunken Aunt June.
Uncle Jerry held his usual place at the
bed's foot, dumbly watching the doc-
[34]
The Passin'-On Party
tor's face for some sign of cheer. Plac-
ing their basket on the table, the young-
ladies were tiptoeing out of the room,
when Uncle Jerry, by pantomime, im-
plored them to stay and hear what the
doctor had to say. Drawing a little
closer together near the center of the
room, safely away from its dark cor-
ners, with the level rays of the late
afternoon sun bringing out their fresh,
clear beauty in sharp contrast against
the dark setting, they stood waiting
the doctor's word.
Presently, while they held their
breath, Aunt June's lips moved and
a wail-like chant, in the halting, un-
natural tones of the sleep-talker, filled
the little place :
" Mis' Cunnel-Jedge- John-Ferguson
gwine give a party a -Thursday —
[35]
The Passin'-On Party
weather permittin'. Brack folks early
an' late. White folks — usual hours.
Seems lak — dat what I allus wanted
to been readin' 'bout in de papahs —
before I go to — de Glory — Lan'."
Before the weird monologue ceased
its trailing echo in the cabin's darkest
corner, the girls had crowded through
the narrow door into the blessed day-
light of the back yard.
Uncle Junk sloped rapidly after
them, and stood fearful in the open,
with quivering form and agonized
eyes, whose encircling gaze seemed to
rest nowhere.
"Fore Gawd, she gwine dis time,
suah ! " he moaned. " Dat 's no sleep-
in' drops! Dat's ha'nts! Talkin'
ha'nts!" Then, half beside himself,
he went on, as if in prayer :
[36]
The Passin'-On Party
" Deah Lawd, ef you gwine take 'er,
why, take 'er ! But don' make no talk-
in' ha'nt outen my Junie ! Still ha'nts
bad 'miff, but jes' ole Satan kin stop
de talkin' kin'. Good Lawd ! "
Nina rallied. She was always the
official speaker of the crowd.
"Uncle Jerry, of course, it's the
medicine," she assured him. "She's
delirious. Here's the doctor; he'll
tell us."
Dr. Barman lingered. He was one
of the Heaven-sent kind, who did not
disguise his prescriptions in Latin, nor
his diagnoses in incomprehensible Eng-
lish. " Nine-tenths doctor and eleven-
tenths man," the town arithmetician
had said, then saved our brain cells by
adding, "Equals two whole doctors,
you see."
[37]
The Passin'-On Party
" She 's not doing well/' he said, in
a voice attuned to tenderness; then
qualifyingly, at sight of Unk's scared
eyes, " that is, not so well as I should
like."
Turning to the others, he went on:
"She seems despondent. Can't you
girls do something to cheer her up a
bit? Quit carrying her victuals, and
put on a vaudeville," seeing the need of
a laugh on the girls' faces. "What's
that talk I heard in there about a
party?"
"We did not hear it all," ventured
Dorothy. " Twas pleasanter out here,
and — will she get well, Doctor? What
can we do to help ? "
"I don't know," answered the doc-
tor. "Ask your mothers what to do.
Tell more of the folks to come down
[38]
The Passin'-On Party
here. She's used to seeing lots of
people at these parties where she helps,
and she 's missing them. She '11 suffer
anyhow, but 'twould give her some-
thing to think about."
The doctor put on his hat. This
seemed to cram an idea into his head,
for he turned with, " Might be a good
idea to give her that party she has
been dreaming about. Unk says she
has talked of that before. Sounds like
it had been in her system quite a spell.
Most women have it dormant in some
part of their anatomy. It may skip a
generation or two, but it's bound to
come out. Well, let me know what
you decide to do. The prescriptions
are in there on the table. Call me up
to-morrow," and he was gone.
Uncle Jerry and the girls reentered
[39]
The Passin'-On Party
the cabin. Aunt June was awake.
With her head elevated on a doubled-
up pillow, and an infantile interest on
her face, she was surveying the walls
of the room. Here, in fantastic group-
ings, were pasted fashion plates, Sun-
day supplements, floral catalogue
sheets, portraits of royalty, and state
fair porkers, all placed where the in-
coming wind demanded or fancy dic-
tated. These had always been a great
pleasure to her, and now her gaze re-
turned childishly to their inspection.
She greeted the girls weakly, but
soon her brightened old eyes wan-
dered to the pictured walls again. At
this sign of less immediate dissolution,
old Jerry was once more master of his
house.
"Whaffor you-all talk dat a-way
[40]
The Passin'-On Party
'bout a party, Juny ? " he began. " Lak
scared Miss Nina mos' to deff."
"Don' know 'bout no party talk,
Jerry. Hain't in my min' no mo',
'less dem papah ladies up dah makin'
me," feebly nodding toward a brilliant-
ly colored fashion plate on the wall.
" Seem lak dey make me all time han-
kerin' for Miss Lucy's weddin' 'ception
and Mis' Gawge Wetherin'ton's pass-
in'-on party, what I missed."
Unk's blood returned to the fighting
pitch. " Whaff or you all time hanker-
in' for dem fooles' kin' ob passin'-on
parties, dey calls 'ceptions, Juny, lak
yo-all tellin' 'bout? Jes' pass 'em on,
an' feed 'em li'l, don' res' none — but
chase 'em out de do' lak turkeys in de
spring. Mebbe dat's a good kin' of
white folks' party, but noways fittin'
The Passin'-On Party
for de cullud race. You mus' has to
stop honin' for 'em now, Juny."
" All de kin' of pleasure dis nigger's
got." Aunt's voice was weakening.
"Wish good Lawd let ole June hab
jes' one reg'lah one, a real passin'-on
party, 'fore — 'fore she go to de Glory
Lan'."
Unk's head dropped a bit.
" Bress de good Lawd ! " Aunt June
went on. "He gwine give me one
when I git dar, suah, only" — falter-
ingly — "only, I not know how to 'sist
dem angels fix dey wings on 'em — an'
lak dat. I holpin' white ladies fix false
hair an' plackets heap o' times — but
don' know nothin' 'bout dat winged
crowd. 'Spects I not git 'sist' none up
dar, needah."
"Am' gwine be no passin'-on par-
[42]
The Passin'-On Party
ties in Hebben, I 'm tellin' you, Juny !
Gwine to set down on God's right
han' an' stay ten thousand years. De
preacher say dat — no chasin' through
an' gittin' outen dar. I'm tellin' you
furder, Juny, ef dem pass-'em-on par-
ties gits common up dar, you ain' gwine
be no 'sistin' angel, needah — don' you-
all fret 'bout dat. You's gwine stand
in dat receivin' line in Hebben, ef dey
has any — or I 'm not — gwine — let —
you — go," broke in Uncle Jerry, with
shocking theology, but fine chivalry.
For in Jerry's heart theology and chiv-
alry ebbed and flowed — the one peni-
tentially bowing the aged form, the
other drawing it to capable erectness.
"Can't go to Hebben hankerin',
honey," he went on. " Hankerin' makes
trouble 'nuff heah. Good Lawd hain't
[43]
The Passin'-On Party
gwine to have folks 'roun' Him han-
kerin' an' honin' all de time. He fig-
gers dat Hebben good 'nuff — wifout
none yo' parties — leas' ways, dese
' passin-on ' parties."
Nina interposed. " Uncle Jerry, let 's
give her a party. She wishes it so
much, and we girls will do all the work
You want to make Aunt June happy,
and the doctor says she must have
more company. It might help to make
her well, you know. We 'd be so glad
to see it through nicely."
"Cou'se, ef you say it, Miss Nina,
an' de doctah say it, an' her haid don'
sot; but I don' sot no sto' by dat way
of curin' rheum'tiz."
That was Jerry's subsiding cry. Like
many a whiter but not wiser husband,
he vanished, to reappear again when
[44]
P
I don' sot no sto' by that way of curin' rheum 'tiz"
The Passin'-On Party
needed and when fashion and his wife
shall have finished with each other.
Nina had her way. She called a
meeting of the girls out on the shady
side of the old shack. Here, with much
enthusiasm, some tears, and an occa-
sional stuffing of handkerchiefs into
laughing mouths, plans were formu-
lated for carrying out Aunt June's
wish — that of giving a formal func-
tion, "a passin'-on party." Commit-
tees on reception, refreshments, and
invitation were appointed, and duties
outlined. Dorothy was to head the re-
ception committee, Grace Cartwright
to manage the refreshments. Nina
took the chairmanship of the commit-
tee on invitation, but finally was made
general manager.
She went immediately into the cabin.
[45]
The Passin'-On Party
" Aunt June/' she said, " we girls have
decided to give you a reception here in
your house. Suppose you try to tell
me now whom you would like to have,
and all about it. Do you think you
could?"
Aunt June rallied to the situation.
She was feminine to the core, and she
fully justified the doctor's faith in the
good effect of the gratification of a
life-long "hanker."
" What does I want, honey ? Why,
Lawd bress you! jes' lak white ladies.
Read it in de papah. Dat's de first
thing. Mis' Jawn Jeh'miah Ferguson
gwine give a passin'-on party, weathah
permittin'. Cullud early or some later.
I want a on-dressin' room — 'sistin'
ladies — an' receivin' line — an' — all."
"Yes, I know that, Aunty, but you
[46]
The Passin'-On Party
don't need all that name for Uncle
Jerry, do you?"
"Ef I can't hev it reg'lah, I don'
keer for it, 't all. Cou'se, Jerry hain't
got no double name, but white ladies
has double name for dey husbands, for
marryin' an' 'ceptions, an' Jawn Jeh'-
miah is my man's 'ception name."
" All right, Aunt June. Don't worry ;
I '11 fix it. But how about this ' colored,
early and late' ? "
"Laws, Miss Nina, don' you know
white folks won' come when niggers
does, nohow ? Mos' dem colored folks
gwine to dere work on first car, an'
won' git to come 'less dey come 'fore
seven in de mawnin', er waits 'twell
after dey gits home an' cooks de chil-
lun's suppah. Niggers — suah drawed
de workin' card — in dis ole world."
[47]
The Passin'-On Party
"Do you want it in the paper,
Auntie?"
"Suah! Suah, I do. In de s'iety
papah. You ask de papah man. He
suah fix it for ole Aunt June. Done
warshed he shu'ts long 'fore dese
laundry days. Nevah caved 'roun'
none, needah, when starch sticked
some. He suah put it in his papah."
Thus empowered, Nina went to the
nearest telephone.
"I wish to speak to Miss West,
the society reporter," as the office an-
swered.
" She is in Europe."
" Then give me the young lady who
has taken her place."
"Can't. It's a man."
"Well, let me speak to him, then,"
modifying her English. But the tone
[48]
The Passin'-On Party
changed. " Why Ralph Newton, what
are you doing there?" Then a little
stiffly : " I wish to give a society item
to the paper."
" My ! Tis good to hear your voice
again, Nina. Thought you 'd cut a fel-
low out entirely. The stuff will keep.
Can't you talk a little?"
"No, Mr. Newton, not at present.
I wish to give an item."
Ralph, feeling the frost along the
line, accepted the situation and her
message, very kindly suggesting the
best phrasing as he wrote, but subcon-
sciously resolving the while that there
was one social function which he really
must attend, although he had pre-
viously avoided such delights, while
masquerading as society reporter.
What his pencil said was this:
[49]
The Passin'-On Party
Mrs. Jerry Ferguson, an elderly col-
ored woman, familiarly known as Aunt
June, is critically ill at her home on
Alayama Avenue. The doctor reports
that her great age makes her case a
doubtful one. She has expressed a
wish to see all her old friends, and has
designated Thursday next as the most
convenient time. It is hoped that as
many of our people as can find it pos-
sible will call at that time.
"Hope that squares the cabbage
case," the reporter added to himself,
as he wrote the last word. For his
mind had gone back to the night of
the senior boys' escapade with the
Cartwright baby carriage.
Early Wednesday afternoon, Ralph
presented himself at the cabin, ostensi-
bly for copy, but really with the hope
that he might be allowed to help. He
brought with him a large box, bear-
ing a florist's card. Nina met him at
[50]
The Passin'-On Party
the door. Aunt June was asleep, and
their low tones did not reach her con-
sciousness.
"Gee! This is a peach of a place!
How shall I write this, Nina?" The
young reporter began: "'The draw-
ing-room zvas undecorated, but its un-
usually unique furniture unmatched
for style!' — unmatched is good — 'In-
herited from' — most of the town's
prominent citizens! I feel honored;
there 's my mother's old silver castor !
And — never mind, Nina, now — 'The
original treatment of the walls! —
Say, she 's got that King of What 's Its
Name standing on his head — 'included
most of the old masters/ — new ones,
too, I guess, — there's the Black Man's
Hope. My! Aunt June's long on
angels," pointing to one corner where
The Passin'-On Party
a copy of the Aurora shared honors
with flaming-winged females in an-
gelic guise, who blew little loops of
shoe polish ads from their flaring
trumpets. " She must be specializing
in that line."
" No more of that now, Ralph. This
is Auntie's own work. Poor old soul !
maybe she has needed to think of
angels lately. There! she is waking
up. She '11 not recognize you — I hope."
'You enquirin' 'bout flowers, Miss
Nina," began the sick woman, taking
up the conversation interrupted by her
nap. "You put some yard flowers
'roun' in dem fruit cans, I been sav-
in' up."
Ralph thanked his lucky stars.
"Here are a few blossoms for you,
Aunt June," was his modest remark,
[52]
The Passin'-On Party
producing the florist's box containing
a bunch of One-Week's-Salary roses.
" Lawd bress yo' heart ! Dem 's fine
'nuff for nigger fun'ral. Put dem on
de stove in dat ole teakittle. Dey
won' git upsot den, an' ladies jaw
'roun', ef water spill on 'em, lak I seed
'em do."
"Now, Aunty, what about the re-
freshments ? " Grace broke in. " Papa
said you're to have what you want.
He '11 pay for them."
" Don' wan' no sweetened watah ner
air wafahs — dat's suttin. Niggers
allus hungry. White folks, too, ef dey
only 'knowledge it. I wants some fine
chicken, an' roas' turkey, an' b'iled ham.
an' roas' beef — mebbe don' wan' bofe
— an' two or three kin' of bread —
cou'se, some coffee, — an' tea, — Irish
[53]
The Passin'-On Party
'tatoes, — an' — sweet — — " she closed
her eyes again.
"Now, girls, while she's gone off
on a gastronomical excursion, I ar-
rive." Ralph came to the rescue. " If
you are going to have a barbecue, you
need a commissariat."
" Don' know 'bout no bar-berry-cue,
— but I don' wan' nobody at my party
gwine 'way hungry. Some white la-
dies, what boa'ds, say dat dey some-
times has to pay for suppah after —
an' culled folks allus got vacantry in
de stomick."
" You must not talk so much," said
Dorothy, "not now nor to-morrow,
neither." She was chairman of recep-
tion formalities, and had a double
reason for her warning. " Most white
ladies talk very little at their own re-
[54]
The Passin'-On Party
ceptions. Just bow and smile and pass
people on."
" Yes, suh," with much vigor, " an'
I seed 'em, too ! Jes' shake han's high
lak, an' pass 'em on, an' pass 'em on —
give nex' woman a fo' finger an' pass
her on, lookin' out in de hall for
nex' one, 'twell Big Bug come, den
brighten up lak brass kittle scoured
wif vin'gah.
" No, suh ! All de folks I circles wif
gwine to git glad han' ef it am a ole
brack, crooked one, an' some talkin'
asides, in equal po'tions an' no guest of
honor," wearily, — "nor unhonor —
needah."
Dorothy regretted the failure of her
disciplinary measure, but tried again.
"Whom shall we have to open the
door, Aunt June? Just leave it open,
[55]
The Passin'-On Party
maybe, if the afternoon is warm?"
hoping for a compromise.
"How he gwine peep through de
crack to 'member 'em quick ef de do 's
open? Niggers don' has no cards, but
it do 'em good to see de plate de culled
boy stick out."
"Must he be right black? Won't I
do, Aunt June?" Ralph again ven-
tured. " I 'm pretty black. Some folks
think I 'm a regular black sheep," fac-
ing about to Nina.
"Ef you open de do', you holp ole
Aunt June a heap."
Ralph turned toward the girls with
a swing.
"Behold the grand past master of
etiquette and decorum at the court of
St. James, Peter, Paul, and the rest
of them. Watch me to-morrow. Mr.
[56]
The Passin'-On Party
L. Chesterfield will be outclassed in
his 'How-to-do-it dope/ The society
reporter acting as footman, house serv-
ant, social adviser, et al. I foresee my
career. I'll be here by the time the
morning stars sing together and the
surviving roosters in Alayama Avenue
begin to salute the day — to let in the
first shaggy son of Ham and be heap
big chief."
"Ralph! You must not make fun.
This is not that kind of a party. Poor
old Aunt June may not live long, and
she takes this seriously."
" So do I, Nina. It is a matter of
life and future happiness to me. Aunt
June's case isn't in it with mine for
real danger."
"Auntie, let Uncle Jerry tend the
door to-morrow. He knows all the
[57]
The Passin'-On Party
folks/' said Nina, desperately — in an-
swer to Unk's signal.
" No, suh ! I ain' gwine has my ole
man 'roun' my party. Not nowhar
'roun'. White ladies make dey men eat
downtown on 'ception days an' don'
let 'em come home 'twell las' woman's
lef. Jerry no better 'n white men.
Don' wan' him nowhar 'roun'."
" Lan' sake, Juny, whar you gwine
put me to-morrow? Seem lak I jes' has
to be 'roun'. Ef you-all takes dem
talkin' ha'nts, who keer for you den,
Juny ? " meekly inquired old Unk.
"You-all kin shet youse'f up in de
hen roost, Jerry. Done clean'd out, an'
hens shet out all summer. Cou'se we
mought has to usin' dat for ladies' on-
dressin' room, too, — but you kin shin
out de alley winder ef you sees 'em
[58]
You all kin has you' own way"
The Passin'-On Party
comin'. Don' wan' folks say ole June
got no manner sment."
"You-all kin has yo' own way, jes'
lak white woman's party/' was Unk's
quiet reply; but he writhed inwardly
as he went out to inspect his quarters
for the morrow, and to prepare the
"on-dressin' room" for its new honors.
59]
Chapter Three
The "Passin'-On" of the
Colored Guests
CHAPTER III
THE "PASSIN'-ON" OF THE
COLORED GUESTS
"|I>ARTY" MORNING found
A everything ready at OO4&.
Woman's passion for slavish party
preparation had its way until it
reached the saturation point in Grace's
exclamation: "Thank goodness,
there's no attic to put in order, nor
cellar stairs to scrub, for this function,
anyhow ! "
However, nothing present escaped.
The cabin had been cleaned to chilli-
ness, decorated to distraction, and re-
furnished until it ached from holding
it all. The very yard had been swept
[63]
The Passin'-On Party
and, as Ralph declared, " scrubbed and
dusted until not a fishworm dared
show its head all night, but went to
bed supperless." And Ralph knew, for
he was the first to arrive. When he
took his place as door-opener, he de-
clared :
" I am not only the Columbus of this
occasion, but the Goddess of Liberty
as well. See me welcome the immi-
grants! Don't I need a torch, too, to
hold high over my head? Darkness
threatens."
Nina, everywhere at once, in her
character of general manager, was
wisely silent. For a colored man was
already there — a negro policeman, Mr.
Theophilus Bryan, who, at Aunt June's
request, had been invited to be present
and "assist through." His blue uni-
[64]
The Passin'-On Party
form, with resplendent star and but-
tons, was a compromise measure for
"Mis' Morton's man servant," whom
the assisting ladies had ruled out as
inadmissible.
The old woman seemed very ill that
morning. The girls were a-tremble
with fear for the day's outcome, as
they looked at her, lying there so still
and lifeless, her massive, raw-boned
face like a great black medallion, cut
out by snowy pillow and enfolded neck-
piece, and her rusty brown hands, from
which the toil callouses were pitifully
scaling, folded in half-open uselessness
across her breast.
Jerry shared the girls' alarm, but,
with masculine instinct, calmed his
troubled soul at Grace's improvised
back-yard lunch counter. When suffi-
[65]
The Passin'-On Party
ciently cheered, he spoke in slow, sol-
emn tones and with bowed head :
" De day of time am changin'. Sho'ly,
I nevah seed no such carryin' on 'fore
free time. De Lawd know! Mebbe
He know. But ef dis day's hellebeloo
make me a widow-man, I boun' to
'spress myself to Him 'bout it — ef I
gits read out of de chu'ch an' out of
Hebben. But she say she don' wan'
ole Jerry nowhar 'roun' — not nowhar
'roun'." So into his banishment he
went, — the unused chicken house to
which Aunt June had sentenced him.
At early work-going time, the col-
ored people began to arrive by ones,
twos, and threes, as they happened to
fall together, their dress and manner
compromised by the occasion. Their
garments were a mixture of working
[66]
The Passin'-On Party
clothes, cast-off finery, and "Sabbath
handsomes " — the last worn only tem-
porarily— very temporarily, indeed, as
the newspaper-wrapped packages left
at the gate testified. Their manner
was uniformly that of sincere love and
pity for old Aunt June and of reveren-
tial awe for the social function now
imminent.
As they approached the door, Ralph
asked the name of each guest, and
loudly called it out. Aunt June, re-
fusing to notice the arrival until prop-
erly acclaimed, shook hands formally,
with only small talk portions, " passin'
on " each guest to the assisting ladies,
for feeding purposes.
"How you do, Mis' Slautah?" and
" I 's makin' out po'ly myse'f ," with
suitable changes of name were her
[67]
The Passin'-On Party
replies to the kind-voiced greetings of
her guests.
Occasionally, her years of pent-up
feeling overcame her feebleness and
fine-lady manners. Then she indulged
in a few remarks: "Jes' passin' out
to de dinin'-room, Mis' Hawkins.
Heah, Miss Nina, you give Mis' Haw-
kins her secon' cup of coffee, wif plenty
of cream in it. Lan' know, she don'
git none whar she gwine warsh to-day,
at ole Mis' Neals's. Jes' blue skim'
milk at dat house for niggers' warsh-
day coffee.
" Don' let Mis' Henry pass dat meat
dish by. Don' you 'member dat ole
Jedge Gray allus eat downtown warsh
days ? Dey don' has no noontime meat
cookin' 'twell suppah on dem days,
after niggers done gone home.
[68]
The Passin'-On Party
"Quit yo' 'bukin' Lilly Fortune for
laughin'Y' she continued, as a neatly
dressed mulatto girl suppressed a gig-
gle at the head-shake of a somber sis-
ter. " Let Lilly laugh her fill heah at
Mis' Ferguson's party. Lawd know,
she don' do none in ole Mis' Martin's
cellah, whar she 'bliged to iron all day
on dem ruffle' party stuffs. I done tole
Mis' Martin, when I cleanin' 'bove
stairs: 'Lan' sake, don' all time be
hammerin' an' hammerin' dem gals for
talkin' an' laughin' at dey ironin'!
Ought to thank de good Lawd dey's
decent 7nuff to earn dey livin' dat way.
Dey mought be stealin' or wuss, lak
some other triflin' niggers. Don' you-
all drop no money into de preacher box
an' all time hammerin' Lilly!' I tell
her. ' Preacher man slip it in he
[69]
The Passin'-On Party
pocket — but de Lawd don' tech dat
money wif a fishin' cane/ I say."
" There, there, Auntie, you are wear-
ing yourself out," interposed Nina,
who succeeded in keeping down the
greetings to hand-shakes for some
time, while the invalid rested and in-
dulged in the fine-lady habit of " pass-
in' 'em on."
But when Ralph announced "Mrs.
Harrison Wall and daughter," and the
parties advanced to greet their hostess,
she again erupted.
"Moughty glad to see you-all, Sis
Wall. Is you continuin' a-scrubbin'
dem ole spit boxes downtown to buy
dem Latin books for Henyetta ? Lawd
know, He got a high-school d/plome
waitin' for yo' ole han' in de Hebbenly
Ian', same as Henyetta's, wif ribbon
[70]
The Passin'-On Party
on, an' all, ef you don' 'quire one heah.
"Henyetta," she went on, slowly,
"ef I don' saw you — no mo' — you
call to min' — dat you — nevah look'n
down — on yo' ole muddah — an' call
her ole — fogyism — even ef you is
stuck-up — school teacher ! White skin
— don' make no bettah muddah dan
yours, li'l Henyetta. Min' dat out — ef
ole Aunt June don' live to see you crad-
uate at yo' school. Will you partaken
some 'freshments? Jes' pass into de
dinin' 'partment." And her voice was
gone.
Some of the guests were perempto-
rily called upon the carpet, but the old
woman's condition and the good food
in prospect prevented replies in kind.
"Good mawnin', Miss Wildeson."
This to one who, arrayed in a baby-
The Passin'-On Party
blue silk dress and white lace hat, flut-
tered across the cabin floor. "Don"
forgit to rense dem clothes through
two watahs an' clean up de basement.
I hear'n tell you done forgot it las'
time. Dat laundry git yo' job nex'.
No laundry evah got my warsh place
— but mebbe now dey — will "
And the old voice trailed off in a grief-
broken strain.
"Miss Gloriana Johnson," was
Ralph's announcement, as, with a
sweeping bow, he ushered in a slen-
der yellow girl, whose airy party rai-
ment, somewhat bedraggled, was held
in place by many pins. Her numerous
petticoats were festooned into unequal
lengths by the same method. She flew
to Aunt June's bedside and clasped her
hand.
[72]
;Dem pins suah belong in de
Bad Place "
The Passin'-On Party
" My ! Aunty ! how well you look in
your pretty white bed this morning,"
exclaimed Gloriana. " I don't believe
you 're very sick."
" Plenty sick 'miff, Glory. I too sick,
I reckon, to wear yo' scan'lous pin
clo's. I suah afraid if I go to Hebben
I meet ole Missus up dar first thing,
an' she say, ' Don' I teach you not to
pin up yo' baik lak dat, Juny?' Don'
you know, Glory, mos' of de stylish
angels wear draw-strings?" Aunt
June's great signboard finger pointed
toward the corner where were pasted
her flowing-robed females, caught first-
hand from the shoe polish posters.
" Buttons good 'nuff for de earf, Glory
— draw-strings for Hebben ! But dem
pins ! Dey suah b'long in — de — Bad
-Place."
[711
The Passin'-On Party
Miss Gloriana Johnson disappeared
into the dinin' 'partment, where it was
noticed that she ate little, and that she
soon " went away sorrowful."
Just then Ralph sang out, " Mr. W.
A. Walker/7 and a fine-faced, well-
dressed young colored man clasped
Aunt June's outstretched hand.
" Moughty glad you f oun' ole Aunt's
do' dis mawnin'. Wish you-all spare
time to sing jes' one song 'fore you
go to yo' fine grocery sto' job. Seem
lak — I hone for you choir boys' sing-
in' mo' dan I hone for angel ban'."
"Why, I'll sing if you want me to,
Aunt June. What shall I sing ? "
"Don' sing no hymn tune. Sing
sompin' lak 'Love an' Lady' songs at
white folks' 'ceptions."
Stepping into the middle of the
174]
Fixing his eyes on the dusky face, the
singer began
The Passin'-On Party
dusky room and fixing his eyes on
the duskier face of the old woman,
which, with its far-away look, seemed
for a time to be alone in the cabin, the
singer began :
Darling, I am growing old ;
Silver threads among the gold
Shine upon my brow to-day.
Life is fading fast away.
As the tender words floated out upon
the morning air, in the rich melody of
the negro voice, all hearts within its
radius melted to softness, to common
love and common ecstasy of fine feel-
ing. And with the last line,
Life is fading fast away,
Aunt June closed her weary eyes for
a rest that might be momentary or
might be eternal. Ralph stepped behind
[75]
The Passin'-On Party
the door — to adjust his necktie. A
dainty white apron corner found the
moistened eyes of the "general man-
ager." Most of the guests fled to
the back yard, escorted by Policeman
Bryan, to find Uncle Jerry rapidly
beating it to cover, where, within the
sheltering walls of the chicken house,
he leaned his woolly head against an
empty perch and moaned out his old
heart in a monologue of prayer and
pleading:
"Lawd, I knows I ornery mean, —
an' don' work to suit her, — an' I
humbly 'fess I lay in' out to cast it up
'bout dis heah party foolishness, an'
bein' 'bliged to stay in dis ole chicken
house; but, Lawd, yo' arm am long,
an' ef you-all save her dis time, I prom-
ise to move in s'ciety reg'lar — reg'-
[76]
The Passin'-On Party
lar — an' never kickin' none, ef you
spares her dis time."
Aunt June was evidently unable to
go on in her present condition. A coun-
cil was held in the back yard, and it
was decided, since the noon hour was
near, to close the front door, deny en-
trance to the few guests who might
appear, and, after the invalid awoke,
to persuade her to give up the after-
noon party.
"Let's quit now, without asking
her," was Dorothy's advice. "She
can't go on with this — she is too weak
to stand it."
" She 's too weak to risk the disap-
pointment, too," ventured Ralph, whose
heart was still tender from the song,
but who recovered speedily to suggest
that a sign be put on the front door:
[77]
The Passin'-On Party
" Gone to Dinner," or " Closed for Re-
pairs."
But the others preferred to accept
Policeman Bryan's offer to "guard de
front entrance."
"Patterole it, you mean?" asked
old Unk Junk, with the memory of the
slave days strong upon him.
" Not patterole, pahtic'lah for to ar-
rest nobody. Jes' say, ' Mis' Ferguson
not to home/ which is de only proper
society way of answerin' truthful."
The young ladies, seeing that it was
impossible to reconcile Gotham and
Africa without violating a rule or two
somewhere, went to arrange the fam-
ily luncheon. Later, on the waking of
the invalid, they went into the room
to begin arbitration.
" Don't you think, Aunt June, since
[78]
The Passin'-On Party
you are so tired, you would better put
off the rest of the party until some
day when you feel stronger ? " was the
general manager's initiative.
" Nah, suh ! I 'm keepin' a eye single
to dis here 'ception. Ef de Lawd gwine
take me, He won' stop for strangers,
nohow. Mebbe you might git dat snake
ile and reply it to my right arm. Meb-
be hit 's de rheum'tiz achin' an' not de
han'-shake achin'. But white folks
dat's comin' dis affnoon don* shake
hearty, lak niggers does."
After prolonged search by Uncle
Jerry, the snake oil was located in
the "deesh" cupboard, which, under
temporary banishment, was enjoying
its plebeian self out near the alley
fence. He "replied" the oil ceremo-
nially, as if it were a sacrament ; then,
[79]
The Passin'-On Party
with a feeling of kinship for the ban-
ished bottle, was returning with it to
their twin Elbas, when Nina asked :
" Aunt June, don't you think Uncle
Jerry could help out in here this after-
noon ? Your arm might need rubbing."
" Jerry ain't ovahpowahin' 'nuff for
no man servant. He all time bowin' low
lak Kaintuk massa. Dese Kansas folks
has to have de gran', leanin'-back kin'.
Jerry no swell, ovahpowahin' kin'. I
askin' Mistah Pr01iceman Bryan to
'ficiate 'tween heah an' de do', sayin',
'Will you-all walk upstairs?' Cou'se,
am' no upstairs to go to — but — "
"I lak to serve you, Mis' Fergu-
son," assented Mr. Bryan, "an' I
b'lieve, further, dat ef a small deesh
was placed nigh onto yo' bedside, as
dese white folks comin' in, wif a little
[80]
The Passin'-On Party
silvah in, to be a startah, I am suah
you would, — well, ole Mis' Brown
done dat when she give her birfday,
an' some say she re'lized 'bout two
dollahs from it, — yes, sah, aftah de
startah was done took out."
Aunt June turned her head to the
wall a minute before replying. " You
suah is ig'nunt of s'iety. Don' you
know dey all passes in by li'l tickets at
de do' ? I don' wan' you actin' irreg'-
lar lak, but jes' be puttin' de tickets on
li'l pan an' carryin' 'em to ole June."
The next remark of the old colored
woman proved that these friends, who
thought they knew her, had but dimly
comprehended the deeper longing of
her soul.
" Miss Grace, honey bud," she said,
"Aunt June wan's you to git dat li'l
[81]
The Passin'-On Party
book you fin' in de bureau drawer
whar dem grave clo's is, — an' my
spec's offun de clock she'f, an' den don'
you speak no mo' 'twell I say."
Grace, half frightened at the un-
usual term of endearment, and wholly
fearing what might come, brought out
what seemed to be a student's exercise
book, very much soiled and worn from
long use. Aunt June took it and, with
much focusing of old eyes, turning of
leaves, and mumbling of lips, tried to
read from its pencil-written pages.
She sjoon exhausted herself at this,
and leaned back hopelessly on her pil-
low. Then, in a low tone to Grace,
that the rest might not hear, she said :
" Seem lak I got no tas'e for readin'
dis aft'noon, Miss Grace. You is
pure good, honey! Won' you read it
[82]
The Passin'-On Party
for ole June? — jes' low lak — to yo'
ole Aunt June."
Grace took the book with a consent-
ing nod to the request for silence. This
was unconsciously disregarded more
and more as she read the astonishing
contents. For here were rows and
rows of long words, many of difficult
pronunciation, some of them obsolete,
but each written out carefully, with its
meaning following, as in a dictionary.
She began to spell the words, as in a
spelling class at school :
A-NOM'-A-LY— "Deviation from
the common rule or analogy; irregu-
larity."
AB'-RA-CA-DAB'-RA— "A com-
bination of letters without sense, for-
merly used as a charm against fevers ;
unmeaning babble."
[83]
The Passin'-On Party
"Why, Auntie June! where in the
world did you get this crazy book, and
what do you want with it this after-
noon?"
"Dat was Miss 'Liza Speedeh, a
culled gal, given it to me, honey. She
was usen it when she was writin' her
craduatin' papah in de high school.
I wan's some bettah wu'ds dan com-
mon for dis af t'noon 'casion, an* I done
forgittin' so, sence dis 'fliction. Des'
fin' some me-je-ate-siz'd ones, Gracie,
an' speak 'em plain to yo' ole Aunt."
"My! Auntie, you can't use these
horrid long words, and folks would n't
understand you if you did."
" Some of 'em I could use, honey,
ef you speak 'em plain to make me
'member."
" Why do you try such foolishness ?
[84]
The Passin'-On Party
Your own words are all right — just
the kind we all love to hear. The folks
would not want you to change a single
one of them. Throw away this silly
book, and talk in your own way/'
"Ef you-all won' read 'em to me,
Miss Grace, — but ole June nevah had
no chance to Tarn only a-b abs. Jes'
only de Lawd evah teach' me His Bible
wu'ds, night times, when ole Mis' not
seein' me. Den I spell 'em out an' say,
( Now, Lawd, tell me de meanin' of dat
big one,' an' He suah 'splained it.
" I has to turn to de Lawd now, ef
you won' he'p me out. I say," — clos-
ing her eyes, — "'Let de wu'ds of
my mouf be 'ceptable in Dy sight,
O Lawd ! ' Ef de Lawd 'cepts 'em, de
white folks 'bliged to. But / — keeps
dat — ti'l book."
[85]
Chapter Four
«De White Folks I Circles
Wif"
CHAPTER IV
"DE WHITE FOLKS I CIRCLES
WIF"
SO IT was that she still clasped
her treasured book when the first
afternoon guests arrived. A breezy
group of city officials, routed for down-
town, and led by the Mayor himself,
blew in through the marvelous yard.
Overlooking the conventionality of the
door-opener, and the obsequious at-
tacks of Brother Bryan, they walked
straight to Aunt June's bedside. They
were genuinely glad to see her, and
much affected by the changed appear-
ance of their old friend. One by one,
they shook her hand with the impress-
[89]
The Passin'-On Party
ive man-silence for suffering helpless-
ness. At last the Mayor found his
voice :
"I did not realize that you were so
ill, Aunt June. How long have you
been confined to your bed? "
Auntie, very happy, but a little con-
fused at the suddenness of the situa-
tion, tightened her grasp on her little
book and answered :
"I been lyin' heah 'bout seven ex-
zecutive weeks, suh."
"Well, Auntie, that is as trying as
a Mayor's job, sure," broke in another,
" but you '11 both soon be out now."
This loosened the tension of tight-
ened heart-strings and purse-strings,
too, as the little dish which Policeman
Bryan surreptitiously had placed on a
nearby table, could testify. It held sev-
[90]
The Passin'-On Party
eral silver pieces besides the " stahtah "
when the gentlemen departed.
And thus it went on during the long
afternoon. Incongruous situations sus-
tained themselves and unusual conver-
sations were heard. Topics tabooed at
parties were discussed freely by these
people of different social rank. For
many walks of life were here repre-
sented. Some came from its crooked
paths, some from its peaceful ways and
stately boulevards. But they had one
point of tangency — a common wish to
bring happiness to the old colored
woman whose kindly heart and faith-
ful service was the lodestone of their
coming.
"My! I've done it now!" ejacu-
lated one of Nina's girl friends, as she
made a flying leap into the back yard.
[91]
The Passin'-On Party
"Nina, what would you say to me,
if I should express a polite hope, at
your party, 'that you would soon be
able to iron my shirt-waists again ' ? "
"Just what Aunt June said, I hope.
What happened ? "
" Well, you 'd never do it better. She
surely reduced me to zero. Just calmly
looked over my new hat and ' gretted
dat a young lady of my cibility had n'
no better raisin ! ' No, thank you, no
refreshments forme, 'less you got some
humble pie. Here! keep my hat, and
loan me that little lace jacket. I'm
going back to try it again. 1 11 chance
her not recognizing me, and I can't go
home this way."
On the crest of the next crowd, out
she came.
" Great ! Girls, I talked of the par-
[92]
The Passin'-On Party
tiest things I could think of — the kind
you can give an oration on, thinking
how horrid your hostess looks at the
same time, and never make an error in
your grammar. Poor Auntie is lying
there yet with that glorified smile of
approval on her face. Well, girls, I
can always remember that, anyhow, if
— I don't see her any more." An ice
soon dispelled her fears, as ices do
when life is young.
Having seen the crowd for the time
disappear streetward, Nina went into
the cabin. She was pleased to see Aunt
June resting, with closed eyes. Only
one guest was there — a queer, half-
scared little woman, who was evidently
a new arrival. Ralph, in assisting her
to feel at home, was relieving her of
the many bundles she carried, one of
[93]
The Passin'-On Party
which was a leaky package of pancake
flour. While he was depositing all these
safely behind the door, the little crea-
ture, with true feminine instinct for
the social parade now pending, began
making preparatory changes in her
toilet.
Her large, shapeless black hat, which
had mercifully submerged much of her
prematurely wrinkled, leather-like face,
was removed and entrusted to Ralph.
Then she endeavored, with saliva-mois-
tened fingers, to persuade her sparse,
dun-colored locks back toward a but-
ton-like knot on the top of her head,
brushed the pancake flour from her
shabby skirt, and dexterously decoyed
a bit to her face. Next she made in-
effectual efforts to establish reciprocity
between her skirt and a recalcitrant
[94]
The Passin'-On Party
calico shirt-waist, and, pulling a pair
of white cotton gloves over her dis-
torted, weather-beaten hands, with no
sense of impropriety in her public
" slickin' up," she composed her trouble-
dented features into a semblance of so-
ciability, and ambled uncertainly over
toward her hostess.
But old Aunt June ! She was radiant
with welcome. No one in all the day
received such a smile and hand-shake.
With her old black face aglow, and
with feeble hand outstretched, she
hardly allowed the poor woman to
finish her speech :
" Don't guess you know me, Missus
Ferguson, but my little crippled boy he
made me come, 'cause you always speak
so good to him when the children wheel
him apast here."
[95]
The Passin'-On Party
" Don' know you, honey ! Bress yo'
heart ! I cog-ni-zen you in Hebben. I
don' know yo' name, but de Lawd —
He keep it mark' down. You-all done set
down in de street car seat one day by
de side of ole June, when no other
white pusson would set dar, but kep'
jammin' de islands full an' hangin' on
to de straps like meat hams. You suah
talk good, too, 'twell I wa'n't bilin'
mad no mo', an' don't has to 'tend lak
I lookin' fru de car window."
"Yes, mom, Missus Ferguson,"
slowly came the answer ; " I am most
too done up to stand sometimes, comin'
from work."
Aunt June's attention was momen-
tarily distracted, else her angel friend's
pinions had lost a feather or two at
that juncture.
[96]
The Passin'-On Party
" You-all mus' taken a goodly lotion
of cake to yo' li'l son when you return-
in' home, Mis' Lady." The society
manner was resumed, and the little
book joggled her elbow. "Has you
ever replied snake ile to dat cripple'
laig of his'n?"
When "Mis' Lady" returned from
"de dinin' 'partment," to rescue her
pancake flour from its temporary obliv-
ion behind the door, it was evident that
she had availed herself liberally of
Aunt June's suggestion about the "lo-
tion of cake," if the large-sized bundle,
hung to her right arm by the securely
tied corners of an empty flour sack,
was an admissible witness.
As the afternoon grew late, many
people found their way down the nar-
row street to the little shanty at OO4&.
[97]
The Passin'-On Party
These were, for the most part, Aunt
June's old employers; but the crowd
was swelled by their friends and ac-
quaintances, newcomers in the town,
whose interest had been attracted by
the newspaper notice or the unusual
house. Besides, there were many of
the idly curious, to whom the open door
and refreshments were sufficient invi-
tation.
Auntie was very happy. Betimes she
played fine lady to her heart's content,
as she did when she received her "street
car" friend. Betimes she seemed a
weakened invalid, with tremulous voice
and shaky hand ; but, following the ad-
ministration of a cup of strong tea,
much of her old-time felicity of speech
returned, and she displayed, without
reserve or bitterness, her keen knowl-
[98]
The Passin'-On Party
edge of human frailty, acquired by the
long wash-day association with those
whom she designated "de white folks
I circles wif ."
"You sure tru£ frien' of ole Aunt
June, but I 'm anxious you hurryin' an'
taken dat mohgage offun ole Dick Car-
ter's po' starve' mule ! He been payin'
you-all a dollah a week 'bout long 'nuff
now. " This to a banker whose auto now
waited outside, and at whose cashier's
window, it was said, many troubled
colored folk often waited also.
" Glad he got his ! " the next man in
the line said to himself, as he heard.
His own turn came, however, when the
black Nemesis said :
" Min' how yo' li'l gal cryin' dat day
when you cuff her years wif de mawn-
in' papah ? I done tole her dat she got
[99]
The Passin'-On Party
no business singin' 'roun' 'fore her
hungry paw git 'is breakfasV
Then one of the town's rising citi-
zens, who was "making" this, among
other important vote-getting " dates"
of the afternoon, was startled into
rather hurried hand-shaking by his
chauffeur's tooting horn. " Glad to see
you looking so fine, Aunt June. You
are my wife's prime favorite, when it
comes to help. I 'm a little rushed just
now — that's my car."
" I s'pose you-all wan' to be settlin'
for dat autymobile 'fore you pays for
dat las' two weeks' warsh I done for
you?"
The candidate fled, convinced that it
would take more of the "ready" to
carry that precinct than he happened to
have about him at present.
[100]
The Passin'-On Party
"Dese autymobiles, dey's moughty
hard on de cullud people, — keep 'em
all time hoppin' 'way from in front of
'em, or jerkin' our li'l warshin' wagons
outen dey way; an' cain't no prolice-
man ketch 'em, when dey's owin' folks.
Sorry I bother dat genl'man — but I
moughty tired climbin' dem stairs,
axin' for dat money."
And on and on went the startling
talk, until Ralph declared that he
learned more real town history that
afternoon than would ever be recorded
by the Historical Society. "And all
wash-day doings, too," he added, little
recking that on those festal days fam-
ily skeletons walk forth unabashed and
human nature flauntingly parades its
hidden need of suds and soap.
He learned of "ole Mis' B., who
[101]
The Passin'-On Party
done hangin' out dry sheets every week,
so' her warshin' look bigger an' make
her standin' good 'mongst de neigh-
bors"; of "dem Joneses, what nevah
had no table napkins, but lots of party
fixin's"; of the "scan'lous way you
gals sass yo' po' ole maw, 'cause she
ast you-all to warsh de deeshes; ole
Aunt June moughty nigh whop' you " ;
how " dat younges' gal of Mis' Perkin
jes' pesterin' ole June to fin' out all
'bout how her beau's maw's silver am
marked"; and all about "dat ole li'l
leaky one tub an' broken wringah in
Mr. C.'s basement, wif all dem hand--
some silk socks of his'n. I suah 'fraid
I tearin' 'em."
And then came a whispered warn-
ing to one immaculate young gentle-
man: "Lan' sake, Jimmie, don' you
[102]
The Passin'-On Party
dare removin' yo' coat, whar dem
society folks is, 'cause dat shu't you
wearin' got fine bosom, but got de baik
'most tore' off. My min' done carries
me back to de las' time I warsh it, an'
cou'se it's worser now!"
Some of the hearers followed Jim-
mie to see how he conducted himself in
the face of that revelation. Others of
more sympathetic nature lingered to
hear what the next man would get.
Their interest was lessened when they
learned that this was Dr. Barman,
clearly on professional business, and
who was the originator of this home
treatment for rheumatism with party
complications.
Accompanying the family friend was
a well known surgeon, who watched
with interest while Dr. Barman took
[103]
The Passin'-On Party
temperature and observed symptoms.
Finally, calling Nina, he said:
"I believe she'll have to stop this
thing pretty soon. I did not count on
so high a temperature. Has she talked
much?"
Nina admitted there had been some
conversation, and agreed to the stipu-
lation that there must be less of it.
The invalid heard this, and plead-
ingly asked, " Would it hurt me to use
jes' a few big wu'ds, ef I committen de
in ones?"
Dr. Barman assented. Then, as he
took Nina aside to finish his instruc-
tions, the surgeon who had come with
him approached Aunt June, telling her
his name.
"I know you-all," forgetting her
promise not to talk. * You is dat cut-
[104]
The Passin'-On Party
tin' doctor. Cou'se, you is welcome to
my party, Doctor, but you needn' be
plannin' no cuttin' 'roun' dis ole nig-
ger. No, suh! Dere's a cullud man
up heah, dey say, dat you has clean' dat
ole nigger all out but de shell of him.
No, suh, Doctor ! Ole Aunt June gwine
to Hebben jes' as de Lawd made her !
He smahtah dan you is."
The next guests were a group of
colored people, who entered with mod-
est manner and interested air.
"I had an engagement later in the
day," one of the party said to Nina,
" and wish to pay my respects to Mrs.
Ferguson. We have known her and
Uncle Jerry for a long time. We have
no desire to intrude at an hour when
the colored people are not expected, but
we could not come later."
[105]
The Passin'-On Party
Beyond asking the young woman,
" Is you still pursuin' yo' cou'se in col-
lege?" the hostess did little talking —
not so much from the doctor's caution
as from the fact that she did not take
the same interest in the prosperous,
well-educated people of her own race
that she did in those whom she thought
needed care, guidance, or reproof. This
made Nina careful to accompany the
party to the refreshment table and at-
tend to their comfort in every way.
She was glad to renew her acquaint-
ance with the young college girl. They
had been classmates in high school,
where the color lines are often inter-
sected by those of scholarship and good
breeding.
Inside the cabin now, a truce was on.
This time it was Ralph and Aunt June.
[106]
The Passin'-On Party
They were alone for a few moments.
The young man was quiet, thinking
that the invalid was asleep. Suddenly,
in slow, solemn tones, her voice stole
out:
"How you-all maw comin' on?"
" Very well, I thank you, Mrs. Fer-
guson." Ralph was startled into the
manner of a ten-year-old at his first
party. He wished one of the girls
would come.
"How you-all paw comin' on?"
"He is quite well, too, Mrs. Fergu-
son." What was coming next? Ralph
contemplated calling some one. She
went on :
"How is you makin' out, yo'-se'f,
dese days, Mr. Ralph ? You suah been
moughty 'commoda^in' 'roun' heah dis
af t'noon. Ole Aunt June boun' to ask
[107]
The Passin'-On Party
de good Lawd blessin' you in de basket
an' de sto'room for all you doin'."
" Don't mention it, Mrs. Ferguson."
He walked over towards the bed. " To
tell the truth, I have always been a
good bit ashamed of that beastly kid
trick we played on you and Uncle
Jerry, throwing cabbages and all that.
You remember, don't you ? I am mighty
glad to have a chance to tell you."
Just then Nina came in. Aunt June
put out her hand to Ralph.
"Come by an' shake dis ole han',
boy! All dat clean wipe' out of my
min'. Doin' good am heap sight bet-
tah dan sayin' good ! "
Then the hostess spirit returned.
" How yo' maw makin' out dese days,
Mr. Ralph ? Miss Nina, you-all takin'
dis fine young man into de dinin' 'part-
[108]
The Passin'-On Party
ment an' gittin' him some 'f reshments."
Nina hesitated for an instant. The
keen old eyes missed something from
the girl's manner.
" Huccom you-all not clever now, no
mo', lak you bein' to dem las' batch of
cullud folks? You quit lookin' sassy
an' 'bukin' wif yo' purty eyes ! " For
there was scorn in the girl's glance.
She evidently objected to this method
of reconciliation.
The young chap showed his first
sign of fighting back. With quick .step
and flashing eyes, he led the way past
the "dinin' 'partment" into a vine-
sheltered path. Here he turned and
faced the offending young lady, who
had followed.
" That was about the limit in there,"
he began, angrily. "Can't a fellow
[109]
The Passin'-On Party
sow a single wild oat, nor cabbage,
neither? The one I threw in here at
Unk Junk that evening was wild
enough — missed the old fellow a foot.
What's more, I'd shy another right
now, if I had it. Sorry I ever packed
that old buggy of yours back and put
it out there in the yard. I would have
smashed it if I had thought you 'd ever
act like this. You could be decent
enough to those darkies — but me! —
Oh, I 'm quite another story ! You used
to act as if you cared, in the old high-
school days. But lately "
As he swung into the path again,
Nina stepped in front of him and looked
frankly up into his angry face.
"Can't you see, you blind old gen-
tleman, that you are quite another
story ? I was wrong in there."
[no]
The Passin'-On Party
She held out her hand. Who could
resist her? Not her old high-school
sweetheart. He took the offered hand.
Truth to tell, he took all the hands in
sight, and wished for more. The rest
is private history.
They took the long way to the " dinin'
'partment," around through the front
yard. As they lingered a moment in
the quaint place, among the flowers,
the mischievous girl said : " My ! But
you were angry! Would you really
like to smash this old buggy of mine? "
He laughed, a bit shamefacedly :
"Not for countless plunks. That
was only a figure of speech. 'Tren-
chant verbosity' — you know. You
surely don't mind that."
There was silence for a moment, and
then she said, soberly :
[in]
The Passin'-On Party
"There is one old buggy out here,
Ralph, that I know you '11 never harm
— the one over there with the little
white flowers in it."
"You are right again, little girl.
Right again!"
The words came slowly. She
vaguely regretted what she had said.
" Oh, well, let 's get some lunch. We
may be needed inside the house any
minute."
As they strolled back, Ralph re-
peated her words :
" We may be needed, eh ? Say, Nina,
as a rising young lady society reporter,
I dare not imperil my English, nor my
budding affections, either. Honestly,
was that an editorial 'we' you used
just now?"
[112]
Chapter Five
Where Social Circles
Intersect
CHAPTER V
WHERE SOCIAL CIRCLES
INTERSECT
NINA'S answer was lost in Grace's
voice from the door, telling them
to "come quick." Fearful, they hur-
ried in, to find that 'twas not a physi-
cian who was needed, but a social
arbiter.
The situation was critical. Mrs. J.
George Wetherington's stylish turn-
out was drawn up at the gate. Her
liveried coachman, footman, and maid-
of-all-work, combined into the person-
able colored man, William, was even
now assisting her to alight. In a few
minutes she would be upon them —
[us]
The Passin'-On Party
she, whose raiment was always in ac-
cord with this morning's eastern fash-
ion quotation ! she, whose parties were
town history ; rooms the darkest at the
daytime doings — the very lightest at
the evening functions — and always so
packed that to lift a cautious kerchief
to a bourgeois brow was to prod an
honored guest with a well-meaning but
clumsy elbow !
"Why, they keep her name set up
in the Clarion office, to save time, ready
for her daily bulletin," was Ralph's
remark.
"Well, she is upon us now, at any
rate, and this lady will have to do her
handsomest. Expect we 'd better hide
all that heavy food in the bushes, and
serve her aerated water and Auntie
June's 'wafahs'." This was Grace's
[116]
The Passin'-On Party
contribution, as she scudded to her task
as head waiter.
Oh, to make everything go right just
now and to please the sick woman, who
had absorbed most of her "party
hankerin'" from "holpin' at Mis'
Wethahin'ton's 'ceptions " ! And not
one of Aunt June's " assisting ladies "
had ever managed a party before !
" Look a-coming ! " sang out Ralph.
The situation was complicated as
well as critical. A stout peddler lady,
who infested the neighborhood, had
followed Mrs. J. George up the path,
and was marooned under the insuffi-
cient shade of a bush, fanning herself
into breath, and out of color, prepara-
tory to charging the cabin. A provi-
dential delay was this, preventing a
probable collision between labor and
[117]
The Passin'-On Party
leisure, and giving Mrs. J. George an
opportunity to make a stage entrance.
And it was well done. The recep-
tion committee's greetings were grace-
fully acknowledged. Mr. Policeman
Bryan's invitation to "passin' up-
stairs" was refused in a considerate
and ladylike manner. Then, preceded
by that curving "genTman," who bore
aloft her " name ticket in de li'l pan,"
in a best arm waiter style, Mrs. J.
George made a slow, triumphal proces-
sion across the room.
Though the sun denied it, Aunt
June's life clock was striking twelve.
As she watched this finished product
cross her humble floor, in all the glory
of summer dressmaking and flaunting,
feathered millinery, Dame Fashion her-
self seemed to have arrived. Mrs.
[118]
Aunt June watched this finished product cross her
humble floor
The Passin'-On Party
Wetherington stood at the bedside for
a moment longer than the social law
requires, giving her old friend a lib-
eral " lotion of party talk." Aunt June,
supremely happy, lay basking in the
effulgence of this crowning moment.
"How — Mr. — George — stan'in' it
dese — days?" she asked, not so much
for information as to prolong the pleas-
ure of the occasion.
Twas a fatal delay. " When Caesar
had crossed the Rubicon, Pompey pre-
pared for battle." Substitute suitable
nouns, and you have the situation.
While this exchange of courtesies was
going on, the peddler lady had not
been idle. Backed by her overcom-
ing personality and expansive physique,
she had flung aside Ralph's "Your
name, Madam?" and, with the gait
[119]
The Passin'-On Party
and manner of a charging hippopota-
mus, was in the center of the little
room unfolding and displaying her
goods and, in the best school- for-agents
manner, disgorging her selling speech
from one corner of her spacious mouth,
while from the other she issued quiet-
ing proclamations to her interrupters :
" Can't I sell some o' you something
to-day? Oh, no, I'll not bother her
any — pins uv all kinds, needles, face-
bleach, beads, buttons — I'm a pore
woman with six children and a hus-
band that's sick most uv the time, —
hair dyes," glancing portentously at
Mrs. J. George.
"Just step this way, where it's
cooler, Madam," ingratiatingly sug-
gested Ralph, in a low tone. "There
are chairs out here."
[120]
The Passin'-On Party
"Thank-ee, Mister, but" — raising
her voice and continuing to glance at
the woman of fashion — "this is the
best kind o' stuff fur the complexion —
can't tell it at this distance from "
But the low-keyed tones of Mrs. J.
George neither sharped nor flatted, as
a less perfect lady's might have done.
Policeman Bryan was wild. In re-
sponse to the girls' frantic pantomime,
he was making little circling excur-
sions about the enemy, as if in search
of a point of attack, uttering mean-
while low-voiced threats:
" Ef you-all don' stop dis racket an'
beat it out of heah "
"Lay on, MacDuff!" Ralph was
having the time of his life.
Entirely undisturbed by the colored
gentleman's gyrations, the peddler lady
[121]
The Passin'-On Party
went cruelly on, her shrill voice filling
all the place. "I've got some great
medicine here, too — Dr. Small's Kur-
ake. Cures ever'thing — jes' ever
kind uv ache er pain."
Quick as a flash, Ralph's hand was
rattling the silver in his pocket, and
he ran around in front of the rotund
lady, with the air of a man who has
seen the light and means to follow it.
" Here, Madam, let me look at that
medicine a minute — lady with a bad
case of refractory heart trouble — I'd
like her to try a bottle of it. Tried
everything, but nothing seems to do
her any good. Step over towards the
door. I '11 read the testimonials, and if
they sound all right, I might buy it
regularly."
It worked — that is, the ruse did.
[122]
The Passin'-On Party
With timely jingles of silver, Ralph led
the commercial lady over near the door-
way, then by degrees quite outside the
door. And, like a collapsed cyclone,
she presently ambled out of the yard
— conquering, or conquered — who
shall say?
The young newspaper man re-
turned to the room, with tightly
closed lips and an unreadable face.
Without a glance at his friends, he
walked over and placed a large bottle
("dollar size," Grace said) on the
clock shelf, beside Aunt June's spec-
tacle case.
And Mrs. J. George? Ah, she knew
her business and worked at it consist-
ently! With the help of a fluttering
little fan, she dallied with the uncon-
ventionalities, and though her eyes
The Passin'-On Party
flashed occasionally, she finally went
as she came — Aunt June's exemplar
in social affairs. "Good-by, Aunt
June. I have really stayed too long,
but your house is so dear. Yes, I '11
have some refreshments, though, and
William is waiting." And she, too,
vanished.
Mrs. Ferguson was the only one
with enough breath left to speak, and
she turned wearily on her pillow and
drawled: "Am dat peddlin' woman
clean gone? Wisht I got myse'f li'l
pair dem pink pearline beads."
Ralph fell out of the door, and the
incident closed for all but Mrs. J.
George's coachman. "William" was
a late importation from " San Louie,"
and a wise and wily person sure was
he. While the source of his monthly
[124]
The Passin'-On Party
wage check was effulging the cabin
with her presence, William was busy
attending the party himself. Not, how-
ever, in the capacity of a servant. But
it took skill. For while the lady would
sit closely at his side on a buggy seat
in the trips about town, much to the
amusement of these Western people,
he well knew that she would never
share a hostess' hand-shake with him.
So William, to use his own construc-
tion, "cons'quented." When his em-
ployer was safely indoors, he went
swiftly to an old man whom he saw
in the back yard. Not knowing the
Fergusons, he wished to feel his way.
By this same old gentleman he was
led to the lunch table and fed to full-
ness. He then hurried around to the
front door, without discovering that
The Passin'-On Party
the accommodating old gentleman who
followed him was the exiled host of
this occasion.
All this was timed so accurately that
when Mrs. J. George's high-heeled
boots were tapping the splinters of
the back door sill, William of " San
Louie" was carefully lifting his red-
buttoned patent-leather pumps over
the front threshold. A moment later
he stood within the little room, in all
the glory of his half-livery — which is
about all that Kansas people will stand
for. With an ivory-lined smile, he
began :
"Ah'm Mistah William Jeems
Evans, formahly of San Louie, and
Ah 'm engagin' in business in yo' town
at de present time."
"Whar you-all workin'?" Twas
[126]
The Passin'-On Party
surely Aunt June, but it sounded like
the snap of a rat-trap.
"Ah 'm engagin' in de livah'ry bus'-
ness, an'," — a glance showed that the
wearer of the white feather was still
eating an ice, — "Ah'm askin' de ole
cullud genTman out dah ef Ah
m ought 'spressify mah congratula-
tions to you." Another fearful glance
yardward revealed a gloved hand
placing a teaspoon on a plate. "An'
he say Ah m ought git in, but he
wouldn' come, fearin' to distu'b you.
Ah tole 'im," — a minute more now, —
" for to come on in, — dat in San Louie
Ah's allus gone to all de stylish par-
ties."
Aunt June was furious. "He's
lyin', same as you is. Everybody wec-
com at my 'cepshun ef — ef he am'
[127]
Ttte Passin'-On Party
boas'in' an' blowin' lak a wind snake
layin' in de pasture. Whah you liv-
in'at?"
"Ah residin' at de presn' time at
mah 'partmen's ovah mah place of
bus'ness."
" You tell dat ole fool man come in
heah, when you goin' towards dat dar
place of bus'ness, kine of sudden lak —
I 'm no San Louie lady, but I knowin'
dat ole coat you-all wearin' ! Done
seed plenty of Mis' Gawge Wethahin'-
ton's drivers sweatin' in dat ole coat,
hot July day, when she 'tendin' dem
gardenin' parties, as she call 'em. Don'
you know what liahs gwine kotch?
We-uns got ten comman'-men's out
heah in Kansas, an' we us'n' 'em,
too. Now, you git ! "
William got. When the white feather
[128]
The Passin'-On Party
conveyed its owner down the path,
William passed into place properly,
and Unk Jerry watched the strange
pair disappear around the corner of
the little street. "I suah hope dat's
de las' of dat kin'/' he muttered.
"Anyhow, ef Juny kin stan' dat coon
in dar, she boun' to stan' ole Jerry. I
bettah git in kin' o' sly lak — 'thout
makin' trouble."
That was why, at the first un-
guarded moment, an old colored gen-
tleman crawled along the cabin floor
to a strategic position quite out of
Aunt June's sight, and stretched him-
self, full length, at the foot of her bed,
where he was seen later to be indul-
ging in a much-needed afternoon nap.
Fortunately, the next comers were
inexperienced in social affairs, so the
[129]
The Passin'-On Party
sight of the host's prostrate form, and
the fact that they were obliged to step
over it to reach the hostess' side, did
not disturb them. It was a group
of little girls from Dorothy's Sunday-
school class. They meekly took the
hurdle with little preliminary hops and,
with unmoved faces, lifted calm eyes
to Dorothy for direction.
She delayed her nod toward Aunt
June's bedside, to feast her eyes upon
the sight. As they stood there in all
the charm of bare-headed, sweet- faced
little-girl beauty, in their best summer
frocks, each holding close in half-bare
arms a bunch of yellow-hearted field
daisies that clustered lovingly about
the childish faces, they made a spot of
sunshine within that little place, too
long unused to such a sight.
[130]
The Passin'-On Party
An instant later, at Dorothy's beck-
oning smile, they moved shyly bed-
ward, though the tiniest one fell behind,
"cause it looked so much like Little
Red Riding Hood's g'an'muvver, that
— was n't — a — really-an'-truly one."
But the leader spoke up bravely:
" Auntie June, here 's some flowers for
you. Margaret's mamma took us all
out to the daisy field, and we picked
them ourselves."
One by one, the pink little palms sur-
rendered their moist treasures to the
fever-dry hand, which carried each
posy to the glorified black face ; then,
as it passed its crackling touch to a
sunny or a sun-browned head, some of
those who witnessed the simple cere-
mony found their eyes too dim to see
[131]
The Passin'-On Party
much more. But the old voice crept
out, in almost childish joy:
"De Lawd suah bress you forevah
an' evah for goin' to so much trouble
for yo' po' ole Aunt! I ter'ble 'bliged
to you, deahs. I wan's dese flowers put
all out heah over dis baid, so 's I touch
'em to cool off my ole hot han's, Miss
Nina."
Deftly, Nina placed the yellow-eyed
blossoms all about the old face and
over the white spread, until the corner
glowed with bloom.
"But we brought you sompin' else,
Auntie — look here! Open the box
yourself. Watch out. Maybe they'll
bite ! " cheerily sang out another little
girl, as she put a thread box in the
crinkled hand.
" No, 'taint't a mouse at all — not a
The Passin'-On Party
really one. It's penwipers — two of
'em. Made 'em ourselves over at Mil-
lie's this morning. We was going to
send 'em to the heathen, but Millie said,
' Le 's give 'em to Auntie June,' and her
mamma said we could bring 'em our-
selves this afternoon. No, they won't
really bite! Jes' put your pen right
'minder that mouse's feet there."
Poor old Aunt ! Twas a tender spot
to probe thus. But she was game. " I
b'lieves I 'bout out of penswipers,
honey, an' I glad to git dese. I ain' got
much tas'e for writin' since I got de
rheum'tiz, but I put dem right 'bout
heah on my piller, so's to hab 'em
handy. Good-by to you, li'l honey-
buds. Miss Nina, see dese li'l ladies
hab some 'freshments."
At this juncture, a woolly head rose
[133]
The Passin'-On Party
turtle-like over the footboard. " See
heah, Juny, whaffor you- all gwine
keep dem fool mouses so close to yo'
face for? Dey mought come to life
an' run down yo' froat." This was
Jerry's facetious method of making
the wife of his bosom forget the
chicken-house ukase, and cancel its en-
forcement.
"Nevah you min' 'bout mouses,
Jerry. Dese ain' no reg'-lah mouses.
Dem 's education signs. I 'm layin' out
to keepin' 'em right heah an' 'splay 'em
'fore some Kansas niggers dis ebenin'
ef dey come heah. Dey all time callin'
us slave niggers, 'Ole Fogyism.' I
boun' on gittin' 'em tole sompin' when
dey come heah. I '11 suah 1'arn 'em a
few things ! "
She more than kept her promise.
[i34]
The Passin'-On Party
Not only did Aunt June "Tarn dem
niggers sompin'," but her young white
friends were there taught some things
not found in a college course. And in
this she was ably assisted by her most
unusual guests.
[i35l
Chapter Six
God-Given-inities
CHAPTER VI
GOD-GIVEN-INITIES
THE late afternoon callers were for
the most part colored people —
true sons and daughters of Africa,
homeward bound from their daily tasks
— the happiest toilers under the sun!
Remember that, ye who blame or ridi-
cule!
All classes were there — bent old
black folk of " 'fore free time," whose
memories were sanctified by time and
distance; embittered ones who had
shared the tussle and the heart-ache of
reconstruction; and the youngest set,
the product of the white man's kindly'
meant, but somewhat misfit, educa-
[139]
The Passin'-On Party
tional policy. Fifty years of history
— history that the world has watched
— was gathered about that old black
woman's bed.
Mrs. Ferguson's party "hanker"
began to show sign of satiation. " These
folks are tired, Aunt June. Shall we
not put some chairs in here and pass
the refreshments?" Nina suggested.
And so the "dinin' 'partment" and
"passin'-on" features were aban-
doned. As the company was seated
within the little room, funereal silence
prevailed ; but later, when Ralph passed
cake and coffee " to the side lines," as
he phrased it, they all got "into the
game," and the talk became general.
And what talk! Politicians, would
you know how to trim your sails ? Phi-
lanthropists, would you find where to
[140]
The Passin'-On Party
turn your helping hand? Educators,
would you be wise for your great task?
Dramatists, would you discover how
to combine sound and gesture, voice
and voiceful body, rhythmical motion
and musical tone, until expression
meets more than half way the un-
formed thought ? Then find you such
a gathering of the new-old people
of the African race — slaves and cap-
tives of the long ago, freed by blood-
shed, transplanted with much question
into this Western country, there, as it
chanced, to meet and be molded by our
Western civilization. There are few
richer fields for human story, nor few
more difficult of successful harvesting,
than was that humble cabin crowd on
this late summer afternoon.
For who shall do justice to the
[141]
The Passin'-On Party
group ? There was " Sis' Liza Logan/'
whose white dress failed to cover a
darker one beneath, due, perhaps, to
the fact that to-morrow's laundry cus-
tomer was fully two sizes smaller than
was Liza herself. There was Aunt
Rosan, a little old ex-slave, who wore
the head kerchief of her girlhood days.
She had brought a white apron along
for the adorning of her daughter, Mrs.
Morgan, which apron was now per-
forming that duty as best it could,
albeit it was tied over the long dark
gingham one, which its wearer had
failed to leave with her scrub bucket
outside the door. This short-sighted-
ness might have been caused by the
fact that the bucket's owner and user
carried one eye in a sling.
Next sat Mr. Erastus Moore, rag
[142]
The Passin'-On Party
picker by occupation, and near him his
crazy wife. Mr. Moore was in his
shirt sleeves, or, to be exact, in his
shirt sleeve, the other having been
torn off, its absence adding the final
touch to an already inadequate toilet.
The crazy wife, Clementina, was en-
tirely indifferent to her husband's un-
party-like raiment, as well as to her
own — a sure sign of feminine mental
upsetness. She was large, fat, and
only comfortably insane. She imag-
ined herself to be some one else, and
her impersonations were not always
suited to her size. Then there was
a young college student, Mr. Solomon.
Among all these, but not of them,
since he occupied the seat of honor,—
a revolving office chair of judicial mem-
ory,— sat Brother Marcus. His broad-
[143]
The Passin'-On Party
cloth coat and lime-covered shoes be-
trayed both his vocation and his avoca-
tion. He was now a plasterer, but a
one-time preacher, and still the prime
comforter of his people when their
hearts were sorest. Somewhat lame
and rheumatic, he carried a cane,
which, with the revolving chair, he
found very convenient when he wished
to address a remark to some one behind
him, or to make an emphatic gesture.
This was the group of guests, while
in and out among them still went the
young white folk at their self-imposed
task of serving all with food and of
seeing that Aunt June was comfort-
able. Unk Jerry kept his favorite place
at the foot of the great bed, as from
this vantage point his watchful old
eyes could miss neither movement nor
[144]
The Passin'-On Party
change in the appearance of the in-
valid.
The flower-decked bed startled them
all, at first.
"Hit's a sign!" gasped Sis' Liza
Logan, as she dropped her hostess'
hand. "Hit's a sign de Lawd gwine
take 'er, suah ! "
"Sign, nuffin'!" answered Mrs.
Morgan, in a whisper, as she nerv-
ously smoothed her outer apron. "I
calls dat a leadin'. Ef done be de Lawd
take 'er, dar's all dem fun-neh-al
flowahs on dat baid free fo' nuffin'.
Seem lak dat Fun-neh-al Flowah Club
moughty wea'ysome havin' to pay out
warsh money fo' flowahs all time. An'
it's gittin' pow'ful of 'en, too," whis-
pering lower. "B'leeves I'll unjine
from dat club ef I don' git no flowahs
[i45l
The Passin'-On Party
when I die." The thought wrung her
heart, and she wiped her well eye.
"Hue com you-all whisp'rin' all
time?"
'Twas crazy Clementina, the imper-
sonator, who spoke. She had risen and
was glaring at them in a commanding
manner. "I'm a teacher, an' I don'
'low no whisp'rin' in here." The women,
startled at the words, stood non-
plussed and dumb.
"Now, now, Tiny," her husband,
Rastus, answered, "you-all mus'n' be
no teacher here." Then, to the fright-
ened women: "Clementina all time
'magine she teacher, er somebody else,
'cept jes' herse'f. She don' mean no
harm, nohow. Jas' in 'er min'." Then,
coaxingly : " Now, Tiny, don' you 'mem-
bah you promise' ef I 'low you to come
[146]
The Passin'-On Party
to dis party, you won' be no teacher
here — dat you-all be a lady ? "
" But I hear'n mo' whisp'rin' up dar
in de lof ' ! Cain't be no lady no mo' !
Whar dat whisp'rin' gwine on ? " Then,
in a fearful voice: "Dem's de whis-
p'rin' ha'nts ! " And, with a Lady Mac-
beth stride, she was preparing for
flight.
" I am a transmigrationist from now
on. I believe this is my old fifth grade
teacher, rehabilitated. She used to have
that identical trouble in her mind."
Ralph's aside remark was lost on most
of the crowd, for Aunt June was sav-
ing the day.
"Cou'se, Clemma," she strategized,
"dis ain' no suah 'nuff school; but ef
you 's a teacher, you mos' boun' to look
over my copy han'writin' books up on
[i47]
The Passin'-On Party
dat clock she'f ; an' heah am a fraish
penswiper. Jes' use' up my ole ones."
Clementina was soon busy and sane
again, contentedly turning the leaves
of the pile of " writing books " which
Jerry put into her hands. She assumed
a critical air as she scrutinized the
scrawling that Aunt had called "my
copy han'-writin'."
The superior knowledge displayed
by the hostess awed the crowd momen-
tarily— all except Mr. Solomon, the
college man.
" Did n't know you were a scribe,
Mrs. Ferguson ! Do you write the slant
hand or the vertical ? "
A look from the old eyes warned
him of danger. She did not risk a
reply.
"That means, do you make the let-
[148]
The Passin'- On Party
ters stand up or lean over ? You know,
some instruct by one method, and some
prefer the other." Mr. Solomon went
gayly on to his fate.
" You-all don' know nuffin', boy ! I
make dem letters jes' as I'm feelin'
— some a-leanin', some a-stan'in', an'
some a-settin'. Ole Mr. Chase done
make me a Chris'mas gif ' of dem han'-
writin' books, long time 'go, 'cause he
hear his li'l gal tryin' teach me, an'
I 'm workin' an' workin' at 'em nights.
Ef I do 'em 'fore I sayin' my prayers,
w'y, dey's leanin' over; ef I writin'
after I sayin' my prayers, dem ole let-
ters stan'in' up mighty fine. An' some
nights, when I 'm happy in de Lawd,
lak a Sunday — w'y, dey's leanin' 'way
back. An' dat's — dat's all I knows
'bout yo' slant an' vertigo. Lettahs jes'
[i49]
The Passin'-On Party
lak folks, I'm a-tellin' you. Folks is
folks, no mattah wedder dey settin' or
stan'in'. Some folks don' spell no wu'ds,
needah, dey's jes' question marks an'
stops." She turned impatiently on her
pillow. Her prospective triumph was
but dust and ashes. Her hope of " 1'arn-
in' dem Kansas niggers sompin' " with
her writing book and her penwipers
had fallen to earth.
The preacher, however, was roused.
He gave a threatening glare at the stu-
dent Solomon, but delayed eruption,
for the young man was speaking again.
"I did not mean to criticise your
penmanship, Mrs. Ferguson. I just
wondered who taught you," he said.
"De Lawd teach' me — dat's who
show' me. Don' He say in de Book,
'Write on de table of yo' hearts'?
[150]
The Passin'-On Party
Don' He know 'nuff to carry out He's
own comman'men's, wifout no white
man stickin' in? Yas, suh! I jes' say,
'Heah, Lawd, how you make dat li'l
quirly-me-quig ? ' an' He suah show
ole Aunt June good, too — good, too!
Jerry, am' I talkin' true ? "
Jerry was there. So was Brother
Marcus. Indeed, it seemed for a time
that there were several of the latter.
The whirling office chair fairly stood
on its hind feet to support him as he
swung his cane and called out :
' Dat '11 do, young man ! Don' you-
all sass Mis' Ferguson. Now you an-
swer me! You tell me! What is de
beginnin' ob wisdom? Quick, now!
Don' be waitin' 'roun' ! What yo' col-
lege book say, whar you pursuin' a
cou'se ? Lan' know, be 'long time 'fore
[151]
The Passin'-On Party
you kotch up wid it. What you say?
What is de beginnin' ob wisdom ? "
"Well, Brother Marcus, I never had
just that question interrogated to me
previously — not in just that form —
but I should say, without a chance to
look it up in the lib'ary, that it was
physics, or perhaps psychology."
The Brother fortified his position.
"Suah, 'tain' no doctah stuff; but
whuffo'you saydat las' — psyc'ol'gy?"
"Well, Brother Marcus, it is like
this. We study the mind and reason-
ing, both inductive and conductive, and
going on like that — maybe that is
what you want as the real beginning of
wisdom."
The preacher rose to his crippled
feet, and the office chair wabbled back
to position.
The Passin'-On Party
" Suah sign you ain' got no wisdom,
young man, ef dat 's what all dat mess
is. Let Bruddah Marcus tells you,
boy: ' De feah ob de Lawd' — dat's
de beginnin' ob wisdom! Dat's what
de ole slabes hab, an' dat's what you
ain' nowise gittin', wid all dis long-
wu'd book-1'arnin' you cain't un'er-
stan'. Dat what Mis' Ferguson mean
when she say de Lawd teach' 'er —
an' He teach' 'er mo' dan de copy-book
writin', 'cause w'en she fearin' Him
she trus' Him, an' He do holp her,
suah. De feah ob de Lawd in yo'
heart, my boy, is what you-all needin'
- den you '11 not git upstickin', an' dis
han'-made book 1'arnin' won' makin'
no gibberin' monkey out ob you newes'
niggers."
"But, Brother Marcus," — the rest
[i53]
The Passin'-On Party
had pushed back, giving the disputants
the ring. Ralph sidled over towards
the exit, and beckoned the girls after
him, as the younger voice went on, —
"that is the old religion. The new
religion says that God is love. We
don't fear Him any more."
The revolving chair kicked up its
hind feet again, as the preacher slipped
dangerously near its edge and raised
the cane.
"What soht ob God you got a-holt
ob, young man? Seem lak if you don'
feah Him, you tryin' to make a God
outen yo'se'f — jes' er-showin' fo'th
dat you-all wan' to build yo'se'f up.
No, sah! Dis heah feah am God-giv-
en-inity — hit pertected yo' fo- fathers
from wil' beastes an' sarpints an' de
whoppenj-pos'. Don' cas' out what
[i54]
The Passin'-On Party
de Lawd put in you fo' good, jes'
'cause you is Graduated from school.
Keep all de good things de Lawd give
you, an' keep all de good things white
folks give you. Dat's de cullud man's
job nowerdays. Den de Kingdom
come! But dese young niggers what
don' feah de Lawd, dey mos' gin-
nahly" — Brother Marcus ducked his
head and chuckled — "dey mos' gin-
nahly don' feah nuffin' else — an' some
ob 'em's in de lock-up!"
Mrs. Morgan paused, her lips half-
way around a sandwich. "Brother
Marcus, you-all talk lak God 's a reg'-
lah pat-er-ol — jes' chasin' folks 'roun'
to ketch 'em. Dat's lak my mother,
over dar," pointing to old Aunt Rosan.
" I 'm tellin her dat 's Ole Fogyism"
"You-all don' un'erstan' us ole
[i55]
The Passin'-On Party
slabes, in dis day an' time, Mis' Mor-
gan. In slabe days, we hab nuffin' f o'
certain suah but ouah hearts an' ouah
grabes, an' de good Lawd an' His
Bible Scripture. But all de res' — ouah
han's, ouah feet, an' ouah haids, an'
ouah wives, an' ouah chillun — dey all
ole massa's. Ef ouah lips movin', de
oberseeah say, ' What dat you sayin' ? '
So we 1'arn to talk ter God straight
from ouah hearts, an' He answer back,
so 's nobody else kin heah. Ef you-all
talk straight ter God wid yo' hearts,
in dis day an' time, you be heap
bettah off. Den you know what Ole
Fogyism mean."
" Come, Rastus ; it 's recess — le's go
out an' play." This was crazy Clem-
entina, whose skipping step, as she
crossed over and took Rastus' hand,
[156]
The Passin'-On Party
illy suited her weight ; but her husband
seemed not to notice it, and persuaded
her gently back to her corner and her
copy-books.
At this, Mrs. Morgan began to cry
copiously into her two aprons ; into the
gingham one freely and fully, with her
good right eye; into her clean white
apron less prodigally with her bruised
and battered left one.
" Wush I was crazy, too. Mebbe my
ole man would n' blacken my eye dis
mawnin' an' say he boun' git divo'ce
papah from me."
Rastus swelled until his remaining
shirt sleeve was endangered.
"Mis' Morgan, when I married
Clementina, everybody sayin', 'Ras,
you suah out-married yo'se'f/ An'
I 'm not f orgittin' it. She 's not to «say
[157]
The Passin'-On Party
crazy, nohow — she jes' see an' hear
double, sometimes mo' dan I do, mebbe.
Now, I seed lots smart folks like dat.
'Cause we ain' nebbah had no chillun,
an' she jes' foller me 'roun' all time."
"My gal, Mis' Morgan, hain' no
chillun, needah." 'Twas the mother,
Aunt Rosan, who spoke. " Dat is, none
to do no good. Only got two, an' she
has to live in de basin of de big Stonah
house. Undah groun' all right f o' daid
folks, but livin' folks ought stay 'bove
groun'. Now Mr. Morgan say he
gwine to git divo'ce."
"I say, let 'im git a divo'ce," tear-
fully went on Mrs. Morgan. "Dat
white lawyah man promise', soon as
my ole man brung 'im one mo' dollah,
dat divo'ce be ready waitin', an' I 'spect
Morgan beat me till I give up my scrub
[158]
The Passin'-On Party
money. I say, let 'im has divo'ce, ef —
I has my chillun." Both aprons were
brought into use again for the weeping-
eyes.
The old chair gave a sudden twirl,
and Brother Marcus faced the group.
"Look a-heah now, Sis' Morgan!
'Man p'ints, but God dis'p'ints,' an'
you foolin' niggers am' gwine git no
divo'ce ! Dat 's bad 'nuff f o' white folks,
an' rich white folks at dat, but dey no
good fo' po' folks — leas'wise, po' cul-
lud folks. God done j'ineyou-all. What
kin' ob God you got a-holt ob, dat you
gwine rip His wuck open lak dat?
Dat's ag'in Bible Scriptah — Ole an'
New Test'ment. I readin' it. Moses
suffah'd ter write divo'ce, an* Chris'
say, 'Fo' de hardness ob yo' hearts,
Moses gib it.' Is white lawyah man
[i59]
The Passin'-On Party
done suffah any ter write 'em? No, I
tell you — jes' only Satan an5 dis law-
yah gittin' mos' ob dese heah divo'ces.
"My ole Massa say to me, when I
say mought I git married : * Marcus/
he say, 'has you-all got 'ligi'n?' I
say, ' Yes, Massa/ ' Has dat gal got
'ligi'n?' 'Yes, Massa/ Den he say,
' Go 'head an' try it, but none my folks
gwine git married 'out dey git 'ligi'n,
an' 'ligi'n got to come fust.' Mis' Mor-
gan, you tell yo' ole man what I say,
an' I wan' to see bofe ob you at de
mou'nahs' bench, huntin' mo' 'ligi'n.
Den dat white lawyah man mebbe
wait f o' he othah dollah. Lawyah man
p'ints, but God dis'p'ints. Don' tole me
'bout no divo'ce ! No, sah ! "
" Yes, let the white people get all the
divorces. If they thought they were
[160]
The Passin'-On Party
any good, they would n't let the darkies
have 'em, anyhow. Hog 'em all them-
selves." Mr. Solomon said this, with a
look that was not good to see.
Only Unk's watchful eye saw Aunt
June's hand go out. She made a futile
effort to raise her head, but sank back.
But her voice was clearly under con-
trol:
"Whaffor' you 'bukin' my white
folks, wif all dese fine helpers heah all
day 'ten'in' me, an' feedin' you-all? I
gits 'long wif de white folks. I don'
'buke back when dey 'buke ole June. I
say to myse'f, "Spects I needs it,
Lawd, an' dat's you a-talkin'.'
" Ef He could talk in a bu'nin' bush,
He mought leas'wise speak sometime
f ru white man's mouf . An' I don' look
[161]
The Passin'-On Party
blacker dan a kittle all de day, when I
workin' for 'em, needah."
"Of course, breaking your back-
working for them."
" Am' broke my back yit, an' I
works fifty yeah. Don' nevah break
my back no soonah dan you Kansas
niggers does wearin' high heels under
yo' flat feet, an' tight clo's on, an'
bendin' over yo' books in de dusty
school, an runnin' 'roun' nights."
"To be sure, Mrs. Ferguson; but
these are newer times now. We are
better educated now and must keep
progressing."
"Yes, praise de Lawd! — praise de
white man, too! But dat don' need
make you sassy an' wicked in yo'
hearts."
Quickly the young man crossed to
[162]
The Passin'-On Party
the bedside and took the old woman's
hand.
" I am sorry that I said that, Auntie.
I do not really believe it, when I think
about it."
Aunt June's eyes filled with tears.
Brother Marcus found his kerchief.
"Live up to yo' God-givin-inities,
boy. Dis schoolin' won' harm you den,
nohow. I 'm not quah'lin' 'bout dat."
Aunt June's anger was appeased.
She turned to her oldest friend, Liza
Logan.
"Huccom you-all so still over dar
in de corner, Sis' Logan? Has you
had some coffee ? How 's you makin'
out sence yo' ole man 's daid ? "
"Po'ly, Sis' Ferguson, po'ly. Ef
he done live', ole Liza not b'en 'bliged
to do no warshin' in 'er ole days. But
The Passin'-On Party
I ain' gwine git no divo'ce, nohow. I
f ollowin' dat ole man all my life-time ;
followin' 'im 'roun' dem ole bi-yoes,
feeshin', w'en ole Massa libin' yit; fol-
lowin' 'im w'en he pack up de skillet
an' say he gwine to Kansas ; followin'
'im on de big boat an' walkin' de res'
ob de way; followin' 'im w'en he git
de heart-honger an' say he gwine back
to de ole place; den, w'en he needin'
mo' money an' say he comin' back to
Kansas — I followin' same 's evah, an'
he done forgit de skillet, 'cause he
startin' so quick." Sis' Logan's voice
was near the breaking point, but she
went bravely on : " An' now he 's gone
to Hebben, an' I don' wan' no divo'ce
— 'cause I gwine follow dat same ole
man clean on — 'twell I kotch up wif
'im in de Hebbenly Lan' — no divo'ce
[164]
The Passin'-On Party
fo' ole Liza — same ole man fo' me in
de Hebbenly Lan'," — with a crooning
softness, — "in de Heb-ben-lee Lan'."
"Allus thought I'd lak to go to
Hebben — fo' a li'l while — jes' fo' a
— li'l — while." Rastus spoke in a low
tone, as if he, too, was touched by a
tender memory. " 'Cou'se, if Clemma's
min' gits right, we mought stay con-
tinuous, but she mighty sot on movin'
'roun' on dis here earf."
"Don' you-all feah none, Bruddah.
Jes' don' you feah. De Lawd hain'
gwine hab no movin' in an' out in Heb-
ben. Praise de Lawd ! " And the cane
went up. Brother Marcus was happy,
and he took no pains to conceal the
fact.
" Black man ain' gwine be no rentah
up dah. Nobody gwine say, ' Dat 's nig-
[165]
The Passin'-On Party
ger's house — kin tell by de looks —
jes' han'-made lak.' Glory! Dah '11 be
mansions dah not made wid han's! I
knows ! Yes, sah — I knows ! " More
swinging of the cane. " I 's got a man-
sion 'waitin' — no white man moh'gage
on it, needah, an' nobody gwine say,
fu'st ob every month, 'You pays yo'
rent or you movin' out/ An' dah's
whar — I 'm boun' — to — go ! "
Aunt Rosan's turbaned head began
to sway and her cracked voice led out
in a faltering refrain. Brother Mar-
cus joined when the second line was
reached, and the rest came in later :
Not eveybody 'st talkin' 'bout Hebben,
gwine — ah go dah —
Oh, Hebben! sweet Hebben!
Not eveybody 'st talkin' 'bout Hebben,
gwine — ah go dah —
Oh, Hebben, an' de Lawd take me!
[166]
The Passin'-On Party
J
Not evybody 'st talkin' 'bout Hebben gwine— ah
j=j=±^=a
nf—P
;ft — 1* — ~] — J* J -] 1
1 J*~~l
=1
s5-^--*- r r
gp-j , |.^ J 1_
— 1
1
-1
Heb-ben!. . . Oh, Hebben, an" de Lawd take me!
9-9-fz. 9— KSm-jStr
[167]
The Passin'-On Party
Feet were tapping, bodies swaying,
eyes were full and running over. Aunt
June said, feebly, " Sing some mo'."
Young Mr. Solomon spoke up quick-
ly: " Sing ( The Rosary' or ' Whiter
Than Snow/. Those are good songs."
Aunt Rosan lifted her tear-wet face
and broken voice in protest: "Don'
sing none ob dem white folks' songs
heah. I ain' honin' to be ' whitah dan
snow/ — wan' be jes' lak de bressed
Mastah made me. Sing sompin' dat
de Lawd teach' us in de ole time. Dem
heart songs good for de ole slabes an'
soun' bes' now to ole Rosan. God
moughty nigh to de ole slabe's heart —
usen to whisp'rin' to 'em in de cotton
fiel' — an' doin' it yit! New niggers
bettah declinin' dey ears an' ah-lis'en,
too — an' den sing dem kine ob songs
[168]
Feet tapping, bodies swaying, their eyes
running over
The Passin'-On Party
dat de Lawd say — 'stead dese heah po'
white stuff."
"Bressed be de Lawd! Sistah
Rosan, you 'membah yo' God-given-in-
i-ties — let de heart song go on ! " And
the preacher led, marking time with his
cane.
The verses were repeated over and
over, with queer little quirks on the
" Oh ! " and running monotones on the
long line. Through it all was that
indescribable charm of the "heart
music" of the Southern negro, now
regrettably displaced by the "white
folks'" songs.
And so these faith-filled people
sang ! They were on their feet at the
end of the first line, and they stood
swaying with the rhythm and with
faces lifted, as for a sight of the prom-
[169]
The Passin'-On Party
ised land. Who shall say it came not
nigh to them ?
An unfortunate swing of the preach-
er's cane brought trouble. It caught
Rastus' sole remaining sleeve, and only
a quick side spring of the wearer saved
it from total detachment.
"Nevah you min', Bruddah Mar-
cus ! " Rastus cried. " Dat 's only some
ob my man-sewin' rippin' out. I sewed
dat sleeve in by myse'f, an' J)
Clementina was sitting with folded
hands beside the closed copy-books, as
if she had not heard the singing. But
after her husband's speech, her mind
took one of its lightning-like turns.
She crossed swiftly to Rastus' side and,
with a puzzled look, said : " How I 'm
gwine be lady, an' got a wuckin' hus-
ban' ? You gottah be one ob dese set-
[170]
The Passin'-On Party
tin' genTmen, else I 'm not gwine play
bein' lady."
" Now, now, Tiny," leading her gen-
tly back, as only Rastus knew how to
do, " you-all go back to dat corner an'
be suah-'nuff lady — jes' fo' parties —
an' I won' be no wuckin' husban'
today. I suah gwine be yo' settin'
gen'l'man dis day — jes' fo' parties, ob
cou'se — but jes' to suit you, Tiny, jes'
lak you say. Ain' dat all right now,
Tiny?" And Tiny subsided.
For the first time during the trying
day, Nina gave way to an impulse to
laugh, and turned away. By this she
faced Ralph, and he, as the result of
good luck or good method, was con-
veniently near. Seeing his advantage,
he whispered: "What kin' you-all
gwine be needin', Miss Nina — de
[171]
The Passin'-On Party
wuckin' er de settin' kin'? Made up
yo' min' yit? Honestly Nina, won't
you try me again — I believe I've got
more sense these days. Ain' dat all
right now, Ninyf What you say?"
With a quick lift of her laughter-
filled eyes : " I say that about the time
Rastus Number Two went to a party
with a shirt sleeve torn out like that,
he, instead of his wife, would be need--
ing some of the — the heart medicine
you bought a while ago."
Ralph required neither chart nor
footnotes. " Say, Nina, get that bottle
off the clock shelf and come outdoors a
minute. I'm needing some of it now
— right now."
" Oh, no — not now ! That will keep.
Here, let's listen. They are getting
ready to leave." But Ralph's face was
[172]
The Passin'-On Party
glowing as he turned with her to face
the crowd.
The guests, unconscious of the by-
play between their white servitors, were
still standing. Their quaint groupings,
swaying forms, and devout, heaven-
raised faces made a fit foreground for
the grotesquely papered wall and dusk-
shadowed corners — a picture waiting
for a modern master who shall paint
the like of it some day, to his own
laurel-crowning. They seemed a trans-
fixed emotion waiting for a voice.
It came. In answer to Uncle Jerry's
mumbled request, the preacher raised
his hands in invocation. At the famil-
iar signal, the friends dropped to their
knees. Then the great voice that had
found its timbre in a heart-strong,
heart-wrung race, and its resonance in
The Passin'-On Party
the camp-meeting of the Southland,
rang through the little place in won-
derful, thrilling imploration to its God :
" Mos' Hebbenly Gawd, de Oberseer
ob de earth an' de sea, an' all de
beastes, an' de man critters! You
holdin' de lightnin' in yoj lef ' han' an'
de thundah in yo' right han'! You
holdin' de sun from fallin' on us by
day, an' de moon an' de stars from
fallin' on us by de night! An' you
holdin' dem li'l sparrows in dey nestes
w'en de earth turn ovah. Draw nigh
to our sinful, dyin' bodies, prostrated
bef o' Dy Throne ! Bress dis deah sis-
ter whose hospital we am injoyin' on
dis 'casion. Ef you sees fit, tech her
wid yo' healin' fingah an' make her
stan5 up whole an' well. But ef dat
ain' handy fo' you, good Lawd, our
[i74]
The Passin'-On Party
Bruddah Ferguson am' gwine be
'bukin' an* kicking 'cause he know you
mus' be needin' her wuss dan he do,
or seem lak you gwine leave her be.
["Amen!"] Bress dis Sistah Clemen-
tina, wid de crooked min'. Wen you
callin' her up yandah, sen' yo' angel
ban', 'cause she ain' able go 'roun'
'lone. Shine down on dese heah white
folks dat been servin' us dis day an'
hour! Save dese young cullud people
in de holler ob yo' han' an' in de crook-
in' ob yo' arm. Don' make 'em no
scapin'-goats fo' de white man's fool-
ishment, 'twell you don' knows 'em
yo'se'f, Lawd, w'en you gits yo' han's
on 'em. W'en de good Gawd sayin',
'Wan's de sheeps to be settin' on my
right han' an' de goats on my lef
han',' O Lawd, make all de niggers
[i75]
The Passin'- On Party
know whah to set ! [A voice : " Show
me whah!"] An' dese ole brudders
an' sisters, good Lawd, whose haids
got de grabe blossoms on — praise Dy
Name, dey know whah ! Don' need to
send no Angel notifyin' invitashun.
Dey jes' a-waitin' for de sign — for de
Glory sign [" Yes, Lawd ! "] an' we all
passin' in fru de inswingin' do'! An
den, praise de Lawd, passin' out no
mo' — no mo'!"
The voice ceased. The great arms
fell. For a moment no one moved.
Then, from the white-counterpaned
bed, two shrunken black hands went
slowly up. Again they rose and fell.
And those who waited knew that the
prayer had filled to overflowing Aunt
June's loving heart, and that she was
trying to speak.
[176]
The Passin'-On Party
Uncle Jerry hurried to the side of
the bed ; the young friends joined him
quickly, and Brother Marcus hobbled
nearer. But to none of these were her
first words given. When she could find
her voice, 'twas to the little group of
half -frightened negro guests, huddled
in the farthest corner of the room, to
whom she spoke at last, in feeble, fal-
tering tones :
"Ef I don' see you no mo' — don'
you bea-forgittin'what Brothah Mar-
cus— sayin' — he heap smartah dan
ole June — an' you tell de res' — tell de
res' 'bout dese ' God-given-inities ' dat
he say — 'bout dese divo'ces — an' dem
heart-songs an' de fear of de Lawd in
yo' hearts. Ef I don' see you no mo' —
tell de res' " Her voice failed.
It was a benediction. The col-
[177]
The Passin'-On Party
ored guests in their incongruous array
began slowly to leave the room. The
path of each led past the bed for a
parting and " passin'-on " hand-shake
from the old black woman there. But,
though Sis' Liza Logan's face was wet
with tears, and Aunt Rosan's turbaned
head drooped low, and crazy Clementina
peered curiously as Rastus led her
past, Aunt June seemed not to heed.
When all the other guests were gone
save Brother Marcus, who still stood
at Jerry's side, Nina and Ralph moved
back again close to the bed, and waited
there in silence for what might come.
Presently the invalid turned to the
two young white folks, who stood so
near that they caught her lowest tones :
"Chillun! Chillun!" and they saw
that her mind wandered. "Time for
[178]
The Passin'-On Party
you to staht — go climb in yo' li'l bug-
gies— outen dar in de yard — an' ole
Aunt June push you home — 'cause
it's gittin' dark — an' I promise' bofe
yo' maws — dat I brung you safe —
home — early. Now, Miss Nina, — don'
be all time quarrelin' an' fightin' — wif
dat li'l boy — dat li'l Ralphie don' mean
no harm. Don' you know, Satan git
li'l gal — dat fight ? Jes' de good Lawd
put de lovin' in bofe yo' hearts. Dat 's
you-all's ' God-given-inities.' '
A young man's strong hand went
swiftly out and clasped one that came
shyly forth to meet it. With bowed
heads, Ralph and Nina stood while the
words went on :
" Heah, li'l boy, I gwine give you dis
li'l book to keep — ef you be good."
She held out the precious book that
The Passin'-On Party
contained the long words. Ralph ac-
cepted it reverently, and then led Nina
away a little space. They turned again
toward the bed, for Uncle Jerry's
startled cry rang out :
"Juny! Juny! Don' you know me,
Juny?"
No answer came. The old woman's
wandering eyes had gone wallward,
where, in all the impossible glory of
line and color, were pasted the disturb-
ing fashion plates. He tried again :
" Juny ! What you wanting Juny ? "
In response came a look of beatifica-
tion on the pillow- framed old face, and
the slow words :
" Jerry, I wish you taken down dem
papah ladies from offun dat wall. I
ainj meanin' no harm — by dis passin'-
on party " and the voice trembled.
[180]
The Passin'-On Party
"But mebbe, Jerry, — you bettah git
some mo' angel — pictures an' pas'e
'em — up dar. Some mo' angel pic-
tures— mebbe dey — bes' — now, for
— yo' Juny."
The old voice faltered on, until it
could be heard no more, not even by
those who bent lowest in their loving-
task. The old eyes closed softly, even
as in their plantation babyhood they
might have done. A gentle sleep came
on — a sleep that, though they who
loved her waited and watched, would
never break again into an earthly
waking.
Jerry did not understand at first, but
said, softly:
" Juny ! See heah ! Dis am yo' pass-
in'-on party, dat you long time honin'
fo'. Bruddah Marcus heah yit. Cain't
[181]
The Passin'-On Party
you-all wake up an' speak him good-
bye?"
Brother Marcus hobbled over to
Jerry's side and touched his arm :
"Bruddah! Don' you understand
You mus'n' be distuhbin' her now to
speak no mo' good-bye, 'cause she
cain't heah you w'en de Lawd done
call ! Yes, my bruddah, de good Lawd
done beckon yo' Junie to come up yon-
dah in de sky — up yondah to De
Lawd's Own Passin'-on Party, whah
she fitten ter be."
Uncle Jerry's head bent low as the
healing words flowed on : " But — He
holdin' open dat inswingin' do' jes' li'l
while longer fo' you — an' me — an'
we gwine jine her dah, on a soon-come
day — on a soon-come day ! "
Brother Marcus knelt beside the
[182]
Unk Jerry's head bent low as the healing
words flowed on
The Passin'-On Party
mute form of old Uncle Jerry and laid
a comforting arm across his shoulder.
Ralph and Nina turned from the two
bowed heads, the flower-decked bed,
and the silent figure thereupon — the
shadows falling softly over all. Then,
with hands still clasped as when joined
by the gentle words of their dead
friend, they passed out into the sum-
mer twilight.
THE END
183]
f>* ?
THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST DATE
STAMPED BELOW
RENEWED BOOKS ARE SUBJECT TO IMMEDIATE
RECALL
LIBRARY, UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, DAVIS
N9 564755
Graham, S.E.
The npassin'-on"
party.
PS3513
R1475
P3
LIBRARY
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA
DAVIS
Live Music Archive
Librivox Free Audio
Metropolitan Museum
Cleveland Museum of Art
Internet Arcade
Console Living Room
Books to Borrow
Open Library
TV News
Understanding 9/11