Evening public ledger. [volume] (Philadelphia [Pa.]) 1914-1942, 1916-02-24

The Barbadian went UP the steps and
tore the creepers away from the door
then he drew from his pocket an enor-
nous key. With rasp the lock turned
and the door opened. letting bar of
light into wide, cool hall.
Gerry followed the Barbadian through
the hall to a broad veranda at the back
OF the house. A large living room faced
on to the veranda. The Barbadian en-
tered 1t. opened the French door-win-
dows and, busting Off two lounge chairs,
invited Gerry to sit down
Gerry looked around curiously. The
living room was comfortably furnished.
There were one or two excellent rugs ON
The waSed floor: n great couch, set into
bow-window; lace curtains, creamy
with agc a wonderfully carved escritoire
in rosewood; a sldeboard, round table and
chairs of mahogany that was almost as
dull and black as ebony. over all lay
coat of dust.
The Barbadan walked to the round
table and with his finger wrote in the
dust, then lie sat down In worn and
comfortable chair, companion to
Gerrys. He fell into so deep reverie
that Gerry thought he was asleep.
Gerry got UP and walked around the
room. His eye fell on the table. He saw
what the Barbadian had written; simply
the date of the day. But above the
freshly written ualp SnOWCu HlOllleTt
filmed over with dust. and above that
another almost obliterated. Gerry leaned
over the table. He could see that
long succession of dates had been written
into the thick-laid dust. Beginning with
the fresh numerals staring UP at him they
reached back and back through the years
till they faded away into dim past.
Gerry tiptoed out on to the veranda.
Before him was a ruined lawn in its
"a prnrkal dry nlDrhln fDMnt n in.
off to one side was a giant plane tree.
From one of its limbs hung two frayed
ropes. Against its trunk leaned
weather-beaten slgnboard Under the
ropes. a wisp of path still showed beaten
hard in a bygone day by the feet of chill
dren. Beyond ,thO lawn stretched wide
hummocky cane fields. They were aban-
doned save for little patches of cane here
and there, punched up against little hen
coop houses.
Got home, boy?"
Gerry turned and found the Barbadan
standing beside him. "a home" he an
swered his thoughts flying to Red Hill,
81 should think l have and it's a Ii"
Gerry caught himself but not in time.
The Barbadian nodded slowly. II know"
he said. 'you were going to say it's IA live
one. Well, as to that, don't you make
mistake. This home rs alive too-just
exactly as alive as | am, for I'm the last
of the Barbados MalColms.
Home" he went on, isn't altogether
matter of cash, comfort and cool drinks.
Sometimes it's just a gathering place for
memories.
There was time when we whites
stood fifteen to one over the blacks on this
island Now the tabIes are turned A
chap that only takes drink every time
he sees a white man would have to go to
a mass-meetlng to get drunk.
they've hpeu gpnlinrr ont gpipn-
tifc commissions from England to sit like
coroners on this mound in the sea. They
say they're going to bring the Corpse back
to life. I've been offered a big price for
this old place but I'm not selling"
Gerry looked at the Barbadian's rather
shabby clothes. "Why don't you sell if
you don't want TO work the place? It's
worth money. ] know enough to tell you
that"
The Barbadan rested one hand high on