She had said this with all the fervor of her soul. And he had listened; he had hoped, and then he had worked. Yes, Wilson Jacobs had worked hard to raise those few thousands, that would revert back to the donors in four weeks, if a preponderous sum was not raised by midnight of December thirty-first. December thirty-first, midnight? God, how that sounded in his ears now. The fateful night! One minute after that hour, sixty-seven thousand dollars, waiting from other sources than the black people of this town, would be no longer available. Seventy-three thousand dollars for the future moral welfare of thousands of young men of this race would no longer be available, unless he, Wilson Jacobs, could raise twenty-seven thousand dollars in a day over three weeks. That was his burden. If he, Wilson Jacobs, could raise such an amount, innumerable black children yearly, and until the end of time, oh, how long.... _Until the end of time_, would be saved and have their chance, their great chance, to become _men_! How much they needed it, these black youth! Only to see any daily, _every_ daily paper, would answer this! And how much would they appreciate it? Yes, how much would they appreciate it?... And yet, what did that matter?... Yes, there were plenty who would say off-hand, "They would not know how to appreciate it; they are incapable of appreciating it." ... But that was from those who did not think deeply--and, yes, the majority, by far, of this race to which he belonged, did not think deeply. But Wilson Jacobs did. He had made it a part of his young life to think deeply, and in the interest of those who needed him. And _now_ they needed him. Oh, _how_ much they needed him, and how _much_ strength he needed to raise twenty-seven thousand dollars before midnight of December thirty-first! "Black people _do_ appreciate that which is for their good; but, _be merciful, dear God_, they know it not. But they _will_, and when they _do_ come to know it, how _much_ life, how _much_ feeling and enthusiasm they will exert! _And may we not say the same of all of us!_" He had been a very young man when his country--yes, _his_ country--regardless of the fact that many of this race now said, with pent up anger, "This is not _our_ country, it's the _white man's_ country." How much bitterness they put into the words, he could not soon forget; but this _was his_ country, and he proclaimed it as such, and had enlisted and gone away to that little island to the southeast.