Part 22 (2/2)
The ushers pa.s.sed the baskets and Sam's heart warmed as he heard the coin rattle. His eyes bulged when he saw that one of them had a pile of bills in it that covered the coin. He heard the great and good man say that it was for the poor brother in black. He saw visions of a warm room, of clean food and plenty of it.
He was glad he'd come, although he didn't like the look in John Brown's eyes while he spoke. Their fierce light seemed to bore through him and hurt. Now that he was seated and his eyes half closed, uplifted toward the ceiling, he wasn't so formidable. He rather liked him sitting down.
The ushers poured the money on the table and counted it. Sam had not seen so much money together since he piled his five hundred dollars in gold in a stack and looked at it. He watched the count with fascination.
There must be a thousand at least.
He was shocked when the head usher leaned over the edge of the platform, and whispered to Smith the total.
”Eighty-five dollars.”
Sam glanced sadly at the two rows of negroes in front. There wouldn't be much for each. He took courage in the thought, however, that some of them were well-to-do and wouldn't ask their share. He was sure of this because he had seen three or four put something in the baskets.
Gerrit Smith announced the amount of the collection with some embarra.s.sment and heartily added:
”My check for a hundred and fifteen dollars makes the sum an even two hundred.”
That was something worth while. Smith and Brown held a conference about the announcement of another meeting as Sam whispered to the head usher:
”Could ye des gimme mine now an' lemme go?”
”Yours?”
”Ya.s.sah.”
”Your share of the collection?”
The usher eyed him in scorn.
”To be sho,” Sam answered confidently. ”Yer tuk it up fer de po' black man. I'se black, an' G.o.d knows I'se po'.”
”You're a poor fool!”
”What ye take hit up fer den?”
”To support John Brown, not to feed lazy, good-for-nothing, free negroes.”
Sam turned from the man in disgust. He was about to rise and shamble back to his miserable pallet when a sudden craning of necks and moving of feet drew his eye toward the door.
He saw a man stalking down the aisle. He carried on his left arm a little bundle of filthy rags. He mounted the platform and spoke to the Chairman:
”Mr. Smith, may I say just a word to this meeting?”
The Philanthropist Congressman recognized him instantly as the most eloquent orator in the labor movement in America. He had met him at a Reform Convention. He rose at once.
”Certainly.”
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