The heart of Happy Hollow : $b A collection of storiesDunbar, Paul Laurence
General
The heart of Happy Hollow : $b A collection of stories
Dunbar, Paul Laurence
African Americans -- Fiction; Short stories
The great day came, and it was a wonderful crowd of people that packed
the great baseball grounds to overflowing. It seemed that all of
Washington's coloured population was out, when there were really only
about one-tenth of them there. It was an enthusiastic, banner-waving,
shouting, hallooing crowd. Its component parts were strictly and frankly
partisan, and so separated themselves into sections differentiated by
the colours of the flags they carried and the ribbons they wore. Side
yelled defiance at side, and party bantered party. Here the blue and
white of Company "A" flaunted audaciously on the breeze beside the very
seats over which the crimson and gray of "B" were flying, and these in
their turn nodded defiance over the imaginary barrier between themselves
and "C's" black and yellow.
The band was thundering out "Sousa's High School Cadet's March," the
school officials, the judges, and reporters, and some with less purpose
were bustling about, discussing and conferring. Altogether doing nothing
much with beautiful unanimity. All was noise, hurry, gaiety, and
turbulence. In the midst of it all, with blue and white rosettes pinned
on their breasts, sat two spectators, tense and silent, while the
breakers of movement and sound struck and broke around them. It meant
too much to Hannah and "little sister" for them to laugh and shout. Bud
was with Company "A," and so the whole programme was more like a
religious ceremonial to them. The blare of the brass to them might have
been the trumpet call to battle in old Judea, and the far-thrown tones
of the megaphone the voice of a prophet proclaiming from the hill-top.
Hannah's face glowed with expectation, and "little sister" sat very
still and held her mother's hand save when amid a burst of cheers
Company "A" swept into the parade ground at a quick step, then she
sprang up, crying shrilly, "There's Bud, there's Bud, I see him," and
then settled back into her seat overcome with embarrassment. The
mother's eyes danced as soon as the sister's had singled out their dear
one from the midst of the blue-coated boys, and it was an effort for her
to keep from following her little daughter's example even to echoing her
words.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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