The Forged Note. Micheaux Oscar

needs a little dusting up, and the reason you happen to find things as you do, is because I've been so busy with politics of late, that I have jes' nach'elly neglected my business".

      Ah! That was it, thought Sidney. He had felt this man was in some way out of the ordinary. "So you're a politician?" he queried, observing him carefully now.

      "You hit it, son," he chuckled. "Yeh; that's my line, sho." Turning now, with his face wreathed in smiles, he continued: "Big 'lection on in a few days, too."

      "So I understand," said Sidney. "I shall be glad to talk with you regarding the same at your convenience later," and, paying him for the room, they betook themselves to the street.

      Election day was on, and Jackson was the busiest man in town. He was what may be called a "good mixer," to say the least, and Sidney and he had become good friends. So said Jackson that morning.

      "Got a big job on t'day, kid; yeh, a big job."

      "So...."

      "Yeh; gotta vote thirty-five ah fo'ty nigga's, 'n', 'f youah 'quainted wi' ouh fo'kes, you c'n 'preciate what I'm up ag'inst."

      "Indeed...."

      "Yeh; nigga's o'nry y' know; and lie lak dogs; but I'm 'n' ole han' at the bus'ness, cause that's my line. Yeh. Been votin' nigga's in this precinct now fo' mor'n thi'ty yeahs, so you'n see I autta know what I'm 'bout."

      "I'd bet on that."

      Jackson chuckled again. "The fust and wo'st difficulty is the dinge's ig'nance". Drawing a sample ballot from somewhere, he displayed and explained it at some length. "Now we gotta pu'ty faih line up on this ticket this trip—'co'se the's a lotta suckers on it that I'd lak t' see scratched; but we cain' affo'd to take the risk, 'cause it's lak this. Nigga's so ig'nant 'n' pig headed they'd sho spile it all 'f we tried to have them do any scratching. So the only sho thing is to instruct them t' vote straight. Get me, Steve?"

      Wyeth, listening carefully, nodded, and for a moment, a picture of the titanic struggle of a half century before, rose before him; its cause, its moral and more; it's sacrifice. Jackson was speaking again.

      "Now we sho gotta win out this time; this 'lection has got to put in ouh candidates; 'cause 'f we don't—and this is between me 'n' you 'n' that can a beah—things sho go'n break bad wi' me! But 'f things slide through O.K.—'n my candidates walk in, it means a cole hund'd fo' muh; think of it," he repeated, "a cole hund'd, Ah!" And, smacking his lips after a long draught of beer, he emitted an exclamation to emphasize what it would mean to him, that wouldn't look very nice in print.

      "What do these others get if your candidates are elected?" asked Wyeth, when Jackson paused.

      "Aw, them suckers gets theahs wether my men's 'lected a' not. That's always my goal. 'f I could get them t' vote so much ah' nothin' I could make a who' lot mo'; but we gotta fo'k out two dollahs a piece, win or lose—and, a co'se, plenty of liquah; but we don' give a damn 'bout that, as the saloon men furnish that, gratis."

      "And you can depend upon them to vote as you wish—rather, instruct?" ventured Wyeth. At this Jackson gave a low, short laugh as he replied:

      "That's whe' I plays the high ca'd 'n' gets a hund'd," and, laughing again in that peculiar fashion, he would say no more.

      * * * * *

      The polls had closed. Darkness had settled over the city. The saloons had opened their doors. From the streets came forth hilarious sounds, where the many hundreds, now steeped in liquor, reeled about. This confusion, mingled with the crash of heavy wagons, and horse hoofs hurrying over the cobblestones, filled the damp air with an almost deafening noise.

      Sidney Wyeth lay stretched across the bed in his room, listening idly to the sounds that echoed and re-echoed through the frame building. Presently, his attention was attracted by another noise, familiar, but more noticeable on this day.

      "T-click-i-lick-ilick—ah—ha dice! T-click-ilick-i-lick—ah—ha dice!"

      "Aw, shake'm ole nigga, shake'm!"

      "Yeh. Roll 'm out. Don' let 'm spin 'roun' on d' en' lak dat! Shake'm up. Make music!"

      "T-click-i-lick-i-lick—ah—ha dice!"

      "Trowed eight!"

      "Dime he'n make it!"

      "Make it a nickel!"

      "Ah fate yu'".

      "Hu'ry up, ole shine! Git yu' bet down."

      "Shoot um!"

      "T-click-i-lick-i-lick—ah, ha dice!"

      "Two bits 'ell seben!"

      "Ah got yu'!"

      "T-click-i-lick-i-lick-ah, eighty day-es!"

      "Cain' make eight wid a one up!"

      "Do'n' try no kiddin'."

      "T-click-i-lick-ilick—ah—eighter from Decatur!"

      "Make music nigga, make music!"

      "Two bits I'n pass!"

      "Ah got yu'!"

      "T-click-i-lick-i-lick—ah—eighty day-es!"

      "Trowed seben!"

      "Gimme d' craps!"

      "Now, dice; ah-seben ah 'leben!"

      "Throwed craps!"

      "Hole on! Hole on! You caught dem dice, ole nigga!"

      "Caught Hell! You trowed craps, d'y 'e heah! Two big sixes!" A scrambling, mingled with much swearing, ensued.

      "Say, cut out dis awgun' 'n' squabblin'," interposed one.

      "'E cain' take mah money lak dat," protested the loser.

      "'F you don' git y' rough mit offa dat coin, yuh big lump a dough, I g'in' finish spreadin' dat nose ovah y' face!"

      "I'on lak dis-a-way a messin' wi' mah jingle!"

      "Youse a cheap nigga, Bad Eye, 'n' y' know it. You all time buttin' int' a game wid about a dime, den sta'tin' a big argerment."

      "Hush! Ain' dat Jackson a-comin'?"

      Silence for possibly a minute. A muttering began to go around as they schuffled about.

      "Ah done ca'ied out mah 'structions 'n' now ah wants muh dough-rine," some one spat out ominously.

      "Me, too," said another.

      "Aw, be patient. Jack's all right," argued one.

      "Sho", echoed another.

      "Yeh, dat' all right, 's fur it goes; but I'n handle mah money bet'n anybody else."

      A heavy step sounded in the hallway, and presently a door opened into the room, admitting Jackson.

      "All heah, boys, eh!" He said in a voice that revealed high spirits. "Good—what's this? Havin' a little game already? Say! Looks like y' might a-waited fo' old Jack, ha ha!"

      "Well," he resumed after a general laughing, "Did eve' body vote straight?"

      "Sho", they cried in chorus.

      "N' how 'bout you, little breeches."

      "Ke-heh! You say. 'Stamp ri' undah da' ole elephant's tail'; so when I got 'nside da' place wi one a dem ballets, 'n' all dem names ah did'n' know nothin' 'bout; but I 'memb'd what you say, so I jes' caught hole that li'l ole thing 'n' went, bim! ri' unda' da' ole elephant's tail, ya-ha!" The room, for a time, resounded with laughter.

      Just then, Wyeth heard someone rap at the street door, enter, and presently the counting and the clink of coins came to his ears. Then the door closed, and a moment later, retreating foot steps were heard in the hall-way. It was the lieutenant. And now the gurgle of throats could be heard plainly, and the game was resumed, with Jackson in charge.

      In the other room, Wyeth stripped himself and retired, and,