"What!" several cried, in consternation. "Do you mean to say that you would have talked about the best people as this man has!" "I mean that I would have tried to. I do not consider that I possess the ability to arrange it as he has. You see, his range and vision is beyond mine, which has been confined to the southland. While he has studied every section of the country we call the United States, and he has, as you will observe, written this article in appreciation of that point of view." "But, great goodness, Jones," cried Randall, very much excited, and likewise forgetting that he did not subscribe for nor advertise in Jones' paper, which was the best Negro paper in the state. Because, he said to everybody but Jones himself, it was N.G., and didn't pay to advertise in it. "See what he has said about our teachers!" "I have seen it. What of it?" "It's dreadful--terrible!" "About the park and library, you mean?" "Sure!" "How can you say that--or anything to the contrary, when you know all he has related there is true?" Randall hesitated embarrassed for a moment, then said: "But he needn't have made such an issue of it!" "But it's true?" "Well--yes--of course it's true. But--" "And about this crime, etc.?" "Yes--but--" "He shouldn't have told it where the white people can read it," assisted Jones, grimly. Those about became quiet very quickly, and looked at each other. Jones saw the lay of the land, and took his leave. "At last, at last!" he cried to himself, as he went up the street, "the turning point has been reached. When I write again of civic conditions in my paper, and show up the fallacies among our own, it'll be read and notice taken of it." All that day, indignation meetings denouncing the article by Sidney Wyeth, was the order among Effingham's black people. All the week following, it was further denounced. And thus we come to the end of this part of our story. As for Sidney Wyeth, he left Effingham. He left shortly after writing the article, and went to another city. In that other city, he came back to where he started--that is, something had come back to him which was his dream, when we met him in the beginning of our story. BOOK III CHAPTER ONE "_That Gal's Crooked!_" When Mildred Latham left the church, she hurried to her room, greatly excited. Without delay, she threw her belongings together as quickly as possible, and without care. When she had them tied and ready for moving, she went out, locking the door behind her, and paused briefly to gaze up and down the street. After a moment, in which she satisfied herself that neither were in sight, she hurried down the street to where she knew a man lived who owned a dray. "Can you get a trunk and other matter for me at once?" she inquired, subduing her excitement. "I guess so. Sometime this afternoon. What number, Miss," he replied, regarding her with admiring eyes. She bit her lips in vexation.