The midland journal. (Rising Sun, Md.) 1885-1947, 1931-06-19


Yancey, as always, a dashing one.
They went on their way. It oc-
Cured neither to Sabra nor to Yam
cey that there was anything bizarre or
even unusual in their thus proceed
ing, three well-dressed and reasonably
conventional figures, toward gam
bling tent and saloon which, packed
to suffocation with the worst and the
best that frontier town has to offer.
was for one short hour to become
House Of God.
"Are you nervous, Yancey dear?"
'No, sugar. Though will say I'd
fifty times rather plead with jury
Of Texas Panhandle cattlemen for the
life of professional horse thief than
stand up to preach before this gang
Of" He broke off abruptly. "What's
everybody laughing at and pointing
to-" Certainly passers-by were acting
strangely. Instinctively Sabra and
Yancey turned to look behind them.
Down the street, perhaps fifty PAGES
behind them, came Isaiah. He was
strutting in an absurd and yet unmis-
takably recognizable imitation Of Yam
cey's stride and swing. Around his
waist was wound red calico sash,
and over that hung holstered leather
belt so large for his small waist that 1t
hung to his knees and bumped against
them at every step. Protruding from
the holsters one saw the ugly heads
of what seemed at first glance to be
two six-shooters, but which turned
out, on investigation by the Infatuated
Mrs. Cravat, to be the household
monkey wrench and a bar Of ink
soaked iron which went to make up
one of the printing shop metal forms.
On his head was battered-an un-
speakable-s ombrero which he must
have salvaged from the back yard
debris. He managed, by the very
power of his dramatic gift, to give
to the appreciative onlooker COM
plete picture of Yancey Cravat in
ludicrous-in grotesque miniature. He
advanced toward them with an APP
palling imitation of Yancey's stride.
Sabra's face went curiously sallow, so
that she was, suddenly, Felice Ven
able, enraged. Yancey gave a great
roar of laughter, and at that Sabra's
blazing eyes turned from the ludicrous
figure Of the black boy to her hus-
band. : She was literally painting with
fury. Her idol, her god, was being
Knocked.
"You-laugh! Stop. -
She went in kind of swoop of rage
toward the now halting figure Of
Isaiah. The black face, all. eyes now
(and those all whites), looked up at
her, startled, terroriZed. She raised
her hand in its neat black kid glove
to cuff him smartly. But Yancey was
too quick for her. Swiftly as she had
swooped upon Isaiah, Yancey's leap
had been quicker. He caught her hand
half way in its descent. His fingers
closed round her wrist in an iron grip.
sLet me go!" For that instant she
hated him.
eff you touch him swear before
God I'll not set foot inside the tent.
Look at him!"
The black face gazed up at him. In
it was worship, utter devotion. Yam
cey, himself born actor, knew that
in Isaiah's grotesQue costume, in his
struttings and swaggerings, there had
been only that sincerest of flattery,
imitation of that which was adored.
The eyes were those Of dog, faithful,
hurt, bewildered.
Yancey released Sabra's wrist. He
turned his brilliant winning smile on
Isaiah. He put out his hand, removed
the NANCY. sombrere from the childs
head, and let his fine white hand rest
a moment on the woolly poll.
Isaiah began to blubber, his fright
giving way to injury. "Ah didn't go
fo' to fret nobody. You-all was dress
up fine fo' ch'ch meetin' so / crave to
dress myself up Sunday style"
"That's right, Isaiah. You look finer
than any of us. Now listen to me. Do
you want a real suit of Sunday
clothes?"
The white teeth now We'd with the
rolling eyes. Sunday suit TO- me to
wear! Fo' true"
"Listen close, Isaiah. I want you to
do something for me. Something big.
/ don't want you to go to the church
meeting" Then, as the black boys ex-
pressive face, all smiles the instant
before, became suddenly doleful: