The Houston Informer (Houston, Tex.), Vol. 12, No. 19, Ed. 1 Saturday, October 4, 1930 Page: 2 of 8
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THE HOUSTON INFORMER, SATURDAY, OCTOBER 4, 1930
TTTANTA T 4 T TATTATAT * *
HITE LAUGHI ER William T. Smith
. aw , .,. Well-Known Fiction Writer and Author
Dramatic Serial Story of Love and Sacrifice of “THE DARK KNIGHT”
======__-
INSTALLMENT FIVE
The hot days, which were bearable
by the languorous loveliness of the
cool nights, glided by with dream-
like unreality. Carl quickly became
accustomed to the ways of the Barre
plantation, and even found himself
enjoying the slow, rhythmic beat of
the life surrounding him.
Although he had not been able to
successfully mix with the rest of the
workers, he found this to his advan-
tage in some ways, as his taciturnity
inspired a respect from the workers
that enable him to carry on his work
with little interference. However, he
found himself highly popular with
both the young and the older women.
His very reserve seemed to pique
their imagination, and some of the
younger girls, especially Elmira,
seemed to be contesting for his favor. °
By now Hotshot spent most of his
spare time, even the evenings, with
Big Sally, and Carl was much alone.
At first he had been a little shocked
by his friend’s going frankly with the
big woman, but this had worn away
as he understood the workings of the
social system on the plantation.
In the North this free and easy
manner of living and loving would be
called immoral, and yet, Carl asked
himself, were these people who lived
together frankly and openly without
being married any worse than some
of the “society” folks he knew who
were constantly involved in scandals
and worse? These simple folk mere-
ly obeyed the dictates of their desires,
and who was the worse for it?
He had met a woman on the place
who had been “with” her man for
twelve years, and the couple were as
proud of their three children as any
married couple could have been. They
lived together quietly, working, and
doing what they could to improve
themselves, just as anyone else did.
Carl told himself that his new
method of reasoning regarding what
he had been taught to hold as rank
immorality was no let down in his
personal morals, and he assured him-
self that the fact that he had not
taken advantages of the many chanc-
es for adventure offered him, was am-
ple proof of it.
Temptation
In this respect, Hotshot told Carl
that he was a fool. “Better take on
everything that looks good to you,”
he had advised. But Carl hadn’t, al-
though on some of the lonely, glam-
orous nights he had spent sitting on
the doorstep of his little cabin, or in
walking through the moonlit woods,
he had been greatly tempted to seek
Elmira or Melissa, or some of the
others who had displayed a willing-
ness to receive his attentions.
On these poignant nights he
thought of the distant, lovely Antoin-
ette, and of his future in Chicago.
But curiously enough, he found him-
self dreading a letter from his bank-
er friend, Anton Bigal, bidding him
to return to Chicago and to a job in
the latter’s bank.
He asked himself why this was, but
, could find no answer. He found him-
self still gripped by a spell of ex-
pectancy that he could not define or
understand. Momentarily he expect-
ed something to happen—something
which would be unlike the experiences
of his past life; but day after day
melted into the next, and the inter-
esting but humdrum life of the plan-
tation continued without a break.
Shortly after dark one night Hot-
shot came to Carl’s cabin. “Boy, you
shouldn’t hang ’roun' this yere place
so stiddy,” he remonstrated. “Why
you don’ come on down to’ th’ scronch-
in’ groun’s with me t’night? Sally’s
Bud,” he continued a little chagrined,
“has done come back, and Sally say
she better wait twill a day er two fo’
she puts him out.”
“Sally’s Bud is likely to whale the
dickens out of you!” Carl warned
laughingly. “I hear he’s what you
might call a tough customer.”
“The tougher they air,” Hotshot de-
claimed, “the easier they is to carve!”
He lit his corn-cob pipe and puffed
for a few minutes in silence. Then
he said: “Well, how ’bout cornin’ on
to the scronchin’ groun’s, Carl? We’ll
set back ’mongst the trees and jes’
look on. How ’bout it?”
Carl arose to his feet and stretched
his arms skyward. “Sure, I’ll come
along, Hotshot,” he agreed. “Why
not ?”
* * *
“Ef I could holler like a moun-
tin’ jack,
Ef I could holler like a moun-
tin jack,
I’d go up on de hillside
An’ call my rider back.....”
Carl and Hotshot sat deep in the
shadows outside the big cleared circle.
Within the enclosure a huge fire
blazed brightly, throwing into bold
relief the cluster of dark faces sur-
rounding it, or casting gigantic shad-
ows past those who danced in close
embrace to the strains of a throbbing
.boh place had a wild barbaric quali-
ty, set as it was in the midst of the
thick woods that lay between the
Barre mansion and the wide cotton
, fields. It had once been the site of
a log church, but slavery days and
the church had long since been for-
“gotten. Now it was used by the work-
ers on Colonel Barre’s plantation as
a meeting place where, after the day’s
labor was done, the dark peasants
could gather, build the big fire, and
: dance and sing until the moon was
low in the sky.
“How you like it, boy?” Hotshot
“I don’t know, Carl confessed with
a shaky laugh. “It gets me all stir
red up—the music, I guess. If I ever
heard any like that when I was a kid
in Mississippi, I’ve forgotten it."
Plantation Blues
Someone was singing again. Carl
bent toward the circle to listen:
“De brook run in de river,
De river run to de sea,
An’ of I run into my daddy
Paw’ll have to bury me...”
“What kind o’ blues is that!” Hot
shot chortled gleefully.
“The kind Langston Hughes
writes.” Carl replied, as though he
were talking to himself.
“Shucks! Dey don’ write that kind
o’ blues!” his companion snorted de-
SYNOPSIS
Carl, a senior at the University of Chicago, reads in the paper that the small Mississippi town in which
his parents live has been swept away by the flood. He goes at once to the town only to find that his par-
ents have been drowned. He attempts to return North, but is caught by the flood and is forced to remain in
a refugee camp on the river bank where he labors with a gang helping to rebuild the levee. The gang boss
threatens him, and despite the advice of Hotshot, also a flood refugee, Carl finally attacks the boss. Up the
river another gang is working, and the boas of this gang threatens with a pistol in his hand. He fires at Carl
Carl leaps into the river just as the gun explodes. He swims to a tree in mid-stream and hides under
its branches. Clinging precariously, he floats for several hours, and grows so weak and cold he can hang .
on no longer. Just then Hotshot speaks from the other side of the tree. Carl is relieved to see his friend,
and the latter explains how he frustrated the aim of the gang boss. Carl tells him he has saved his life.
They desert the tree and make their way through the woods, arriving at a cabin occupied by a col-
ored family, where they are fed. The son. Gene, takes them in his truck through the swamp to Colonel
Burre’s plantation, where they can secure work.
Through the murky night the three men bump and lurch over the rough road through the swamp.
Carl tells himself that as soon as he has earned enough money by working on the plantation he will return
North, and plans to write to his friend, Anton Bigal, the banker, concerning his plight. Bigal was his fa-
ther’s friend, and has always shown interest in Carl. Gene tells Carl about Colonel Barre and his planta-
tion, and when they arrive and have breakfast, the Colonel, learning that Carl has a good education, makes
him his cotton-weigher, and hires Hotshot as cotton picker.
Carl and Hotshot are assigned to a cabin near the "big house." Carl notes the pleasure which the
dark peasants seem to draw from their humble lives on the plantation. On the way to the fields they pass
through a cleared space in the woods which Gene explains is the “scronch circle" in which the workers dis-
port themselves after the day's labor Is done.
In the field Hotshot is at once accepted because of his ready wit, and familiarity with the other pickers.
Carl, however, holds aloof because he is unable to “speak their language." Hotshot becomes friendly with
Big Sally after he has proved his ability to pick four hundred pounds of cotton.
That night Carl writes to Anton Bigal, the Chicago banker, telling him of his plight, and asking for a
position In Bigal’s bank. He also writes to Antoinette, his sweetheart in Chicago, whom he thinks he loves.
He tells her he is eager to leave the Barre plantation and return to her, but he finds himself oppressed
with the sense of some splendid thing about to happen to him.
Show ’em how to shake it, Baby.” . . A sinuous movement of the girl's body drew sib:
lant inhalations from the men. Then she began to weave back and forth languorously.
his friend. When he spoke there was
longing in his tone, although he
strove to hide it.
“Aw, I ain’t so pertickler ’bout
clownin’ with them guys,” he dis-
claimed. “Out there walkin’ th’ dog
like that." Then he asked, “Why you
don’ get out there and have some fun
yo’se’f, boy? I heerd a bunch of
them gals talkin’ ’bout you today.
They said,” Hotshot chuckled, “that
you sho’ was pritty.”
“They’re silly,” Carl said shortly.
“And besides----”
“An’ they think you’re hincty—
dicty, sort of, too.”
“Why?” the youth ejaculated in
surprise. “Why should they think me
stuck up?”
“Well, I reckon it’s‘cause you talks
so proper,” Hotshot commented drily.
“I can’t help how I talk, Hotshot.”
Carl told him earnestly. “Right now
I wish I could talk—like they do.”
“That’s funny,” his companion
mused. “Here I am wishin’ I could
talk like you, an’ here you are wishin’
you could talk like me.” He sighed.
“I guess folks ain’t never satisfied.”
Out by the fire the singing had
ceased, and the banjo was strumming
some melody whose speedy tempo,
rang through the woods. Someone
in the crowd was urging someone
else to dance.
“Come on out here, Elmira, an’
shake yo’ hips! Aw, come on, ole
bashful gal! Mek Peco leave you
alone, and pats yo’ feet!"
The girl to whom the remarks were
directed was cream-colored, with
heavy, lustrous black hair, and was
one of the younger women who had
shown friendliness for Carl. She sat
at the edge of the group half lying
back in a husky brown youth's arms.
She smiled boldy, then uncoiled her-
self and came to the center of the
group. The youth whom she left
grinned so proudly that his gold teeth
flashed in the firelight
“Show ’em how to shake it, baby,”
he admonished.
A sinuous movement of the girl’s
body drew sibilant inhalations from
the men. Then she began to weave
back and forth languorously in the
narrow space. The gaunt one-eyed
player, his long dark fingered hands
hovering over the banjo, drew deep,
slow, sensual chords from his instru-
ment
not,” Carl agreed, smil-
If in the darkness, “Why
o on out there and join
man squirmed, then he ------
k to his position beside “Play that thing, One-Eye!' a man
shouted. “Boy, whip that box till it
mourns!”
The dancer wore a thin crimson
garment of calico that displayed the
fulsome curved beauty of her young
body. As she danced her eyes darted
over the rapt faces of those who
watched her, and in them was some-
thing which every man who saw,
took to be a personal message to
himself.
Back in the shadows Hotshot nudg-
ed Carl significantly: “Boy, ’ats th’
gal what thinks you’re hot stuff,” he
cried. “Now ain’t you got a break?”
The Bully Admirer /
Carl laughed. “I’d probably get my
head broken if I shined up to her.
That big husky boy friend of hers is
nobody’s plaything.”
“Shucks!" Hotshot cried disdainful-
ly. “After I seed you smack that big
gang boss down I ain’t scairt to put
you up to anybody on this yere plan-
tation!”
“Just the same, I don’t have any
desire to go around battling—espec-
ally over women," the youth told
him.
They were silent, watching the
pretty ivory-skinned girl finish her
dance. When she had done, her
brawny lover got to his feet and came
toward her. When she had almost
reached him a huge form upreared
from a place close to the fire and
stood in her way. The man was a
veritable giant, and with the greatest
ease he lifted her from her feet into
his great arms.
Peco, who had started to meet her,
halted abruptly, then his broad visage
contorted into quick anger.
“Bogo, you let my gal be,” he cried
sharply.
The big man set the girl down de-
liberately. “You speakin’ to me?"
he asked with grim politeness. Peco
wavered, then he spoke, although
nervously.
“Yes, I was. Just ’cause you’re
big as the side of a house, don’ think
yo kin tek eny gal you want.”
“What was you calculatin’ to do
’bout hit?” Bogo asked in the same
coldly dangerous tones he had used
before.
“You let Peco be!” Elmira cried
suddenly. “An’ you let me be, too,
you big ape!”
Bogo pushed the girl behind him
with a careless movement of his hand.
The groun around the fire had grown
disdainfully over his shoulder. “You
ain’t woman enuff for me!”
“That big gorilla is gonna be got
some of these days on this planta-
tion,” Hotshot muttered.
“Well, let’s you and me stay out
of it,” Carl said. “He’s big enough to
lick us both.”
“He don’ bother us, us don’ bother
him," the little man said with force-
ful lack of elegance. “But he don’
like you ‘cause ole Kunnel Barre done
made you weigher out in th’ fiel’s. 1
notice him look at you kinda hard
the second day ole boss man made
you boss-cotton weigher. He want
to be foreman, and I ’spect he fig-
gers, you gonna beat his time.”
“He needn’t worry,” Carl said quiet-
ly. “I’ve got almost enough money
to get back up North. I won’t stand
in his way.”
"The Runnel’ll be sorry when he
finds out you goin’ t’ leave him,”
Hotshot mused. “He done took a
pow’ful likin’ to you. He look at you
kinda funny and call you ‘Son’."
The Ultimatum
“The Colonel,” Carl said slowly, “is
a lonely old man. Mammy Sue, who
has been in his service a long time—
even back in slavery days—told me
the same story Gene told, that when
he was young he lost both his wife
and the baby she was bringing into
the world. She told me that the
family physician couldn’t be reached
when the child was about to be born,
and that the Colonel blamed this
young white doctor—and ever since
then, she tells me, he has had no use
for white people—especially what he
calls ‘poor class’."
“He sho’ treats us’ns fine. He pay
mo’ fo’ pickin’ cotton than enybody
’round here in this part of Louisiana.”
"I think he is really fond of dark
people, even though he sometimes
calls them names which they don’t
like,” Carl put in.
“Aw, they don’ keer what he calls
’em,” Hotshot declared disdainfully.
“Where did you come from, Hot-
shot?” Carl asked.
The little brown man hesitated,
then he chuckled. “I’m f’m Omaha,”
he said drily. “That is, after they
run me outa Texas.”
By this time the fire was almost
deserted. Its dimming glow was a red
eye in the darkness, and the moon
was hidden with heavy clouds. There
was a little chill in the air.
Just as the two were about to arise,
a huge shadow loomed up before
him. It was Bogo, and the fumes of
the rotgut liquor he had been drink-
ing preceded him.
“Say, you weigher,” he called out.
“What do you want, Bogo?” Carl
inquired. Hotshot got to his feet
silently, and Carl followed.
“I wants you, tha’s what I wants,”
the big man spoke out of the dark-
ness truculently.
“What do you want with me?” Carl
asked, a little less friendly.
“I wants you to leave this yere
plantation,” Bogo grated, his heavy
breathing loud in the stillness. “An’
I wants you ’t leave here a-runnin’—
tonight!”■
“But why?” Carl protested. “Why
should I leave?”
“Don’ ax me no questions,” Bogo
growled, coming close to the youth,
"but start goin’ now—an’ don’ let
daybreak cotch you nowheres nigh
here—case eff’n it does I’se gwine
break you up into little bitty pieces!”
END OF INSTLLMENT FIVE
* **
Does Bogo’s threat frighten Carl?
Does Carl turn “yellow” and leave
his friend. Hotshot, and happiness?
See Installment Six next week!
The Johnson chicken farm near
Bowie, Texas, is said to be the largest
in the world devoted exclusively to
raising chickens and producing eggs.
tense, and some of them were edging
away from tne tre. The dark giant,
his thin patched blue shirt showing
his python-like muscles moved to-
ward Peco slowly. “What is you
gwine to do ’bout hit?” he asked Peco
again.
The youth thrust his hand quickly
into his pocket, but before he could
draw out his knife Bogo buffeted him
on the head with one huge paw, and
the smaller man sprawled on the
/ground, motionless. Elmira scream-
ed, then leaped at Bogo, clawing at
his face. Bogo pushed her away con-
temptuously and strode through the
quiet group.
“I wouldn’t have you,” he threw
' Babies
F RE
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Remember this, harmless, pure
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when Baby has been brought
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WHITEBUSDRIVER
IS DISCHARGED AS
UNFAIR TO NEGRO
Springfield, Mass.—(ANP)—Vig-
orous action on the part of Council-
man Alford H. Tavernier resulted in
the discharge of Stephen Perrone as
a bus driver, because he practiced ra-
cial discrimination on one of the New
England Transportation Company’s
busses.
Councilman Tavernier informed the
transportation board that the practice
of racial discrimination by bus em-
ployes had been going on for some-
time. The most recent case and the
case which brought matters to a head
concerned Norman Johnson who has
been a life-long resident of this city.
Johnson was intimidated by Perrone,
when on his way to New York and he
left the bus at Windsor Locks, rather
than run the risk of mistreatment at
Perrone’s hands. Johnson then called
the incident to the attention of Mr.
Tavernier. ,
All of the transportation board
members expressed disapproval of
such tactics and voted unanimously to
revoke Perrone’s license to operate a
bus in this territory. The board fur-
ther authorized Lester C. Hammond,
supervisor of motor vehicles, to write
to each bus company licensed by the
city, asking their policy in this re-
spect.
ARKANSAS TROOPS
CALLED OUT WHEN
BANK RUN STARTS
Pine Bluff, Ark.— ( ANP )—The
Arkansas national guardsmen have
been called upon to serve in many ca-
pacities recently, such as protecting:
Negro prisoners from mobs, curbing
attacks on working Negroes by, job-
less whites, and Wednesday night, the
local company was mobilized to pre-
vent robbery during a run on the
Merchants and Planters Bank.
The run on the bank was started,
according to bank officials through a
false report that the bank would be
closed soon. Hundreds of depositors
milled in and around the bank during
the day, and it was decided to keep
the bank open Wednesday night so as
to pay off those desiring to withdraw
their funds. Many of the depositors
were Negroes.
NEGROES OPEN MOVIE FIRM
New Orleans, La.—(ANP)—For
the first time in the history of the
movie business in New Orleans,, a
Negro concern has been granted the
full rights to operate independently.
The new firm is to be known as the
Piro Film Agents. The promoters
are A. J. Piron, director, and J. C..
Roudez, general manager.
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The Houston Informer (Houston, Tex.), Vol. 12, No. 19, Ed. 1 Saturday, October 4, 1930, newspaper, October 4, 1930; Houston, Texas. (https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth1637720/m1/2/?q=hamilton+county: accessed July 17, 2024), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu; crediting Rice University Woodson Research Center.