mouse.”

Almost grudgingly, he let her settle herself and drop her head against his shoulder. In a moment his head slipped down against the soft hair of the girl and Obadiah dozed anew.

She murmured softly, “It was so easy to explain to you. Serena wouldn’t understand, I am afraid. All of your life, Daddy, you have been helping other people.”

“Whom?” asked Obadiah in alarm, starting up and shaking the girl’s head from his shoulder.

“Daddy, wake up. You were asleep while I was talking to you.” She tried to kiss him as he rubbed his eyes, but his arms were in her way. “You are such a comfort, Daddy. I wish I could be like you,” she said softly.

“You can try,” conceded Obadiah immodestly. “You are keeping me up. I am tired. I want to go to bed. My legs are asleep from your sitting on them,” he complained and then told her shortly, “The place for you to dream is in bed, not on my lap.”

CHAPTER II
THE MISSION BEGUN

Obadiah Dale’s car was waiting at his home. It stood upon the gravel driveway opposite the steps at the end of the porch. Virginia was seated in the rear seat and her eyes rested seriously upon Serena, who from the higher floor of the porch, viewed Ike, lounging by the car, as from a rostrum.

The young negro was attired in a neat livery which gave him a natty aspect distinctly absent when his siesta was disturbed by Serena. Regardless of his more attractive guise, however, he shifted nervously under her stern gaze. He, who ever bore himself, in hours of leisure, before the black population of South Ridgefield as one of imperial blood, was abashed before her. That poise, that coolness of demeanor, that almost insolent manner exhibited at crap games, chicken fights or those social functions where the gentler sex predominates, was absent now. Before Serena, his lofty soul became as a worm, desirous of burying itself from the pitiless light of publicity.

“You Ike,” she said with great severity, “mine wot ah say. Stop you’ fas’ drivin’. Miss Virginy ain’ wantin’ to go shootin’ aroun’ dis yere town lak er circus lady in er cha’iot race.”

The girl displayed interest in the remark, but remained silent.

Ike climbed into the car and sought support from the steering wheel. In a gentle manner, as if desirous of averting wrath, he made answer, “Ah ain’ no speeder, Miss Sereny. Ah is de carefulest chauffah in dis town. Ah sez, ‘Safety fust.’ Dat’s ma motta.” At the sound of his own voice he gained in assurance. He had acquired these statements by heart from frequent repetition.

“Wat you down in dat co’t fo’, den?” inquired Serena. “Mr. Dale he done say, he gittin’ tired er payin’ fines fo’ yo’all. He say de nex’ time he gwine ax de jedge to let you rot in dat calaboose.”

Ike listened to this promise of extended incarceration with the casual interest due an oft repeated tale. Disregarding it, he continued, “Ah goes to co’t ’count o’ de inexpe’ienced drivers.” He spoke as an expert. “Ef dey had ’spe’ienced drivers dey ain’ gwine be no trouble a tall.”

“Dey bettah be no mo’ trouble,” snapped Serena, “les yo’all gits in worse. G’wan now ’bout you’ business. Take Miss Virginy down to de sto’ an’ den out on de river road. You gotta git back in time to bring her pa home fo’ lunch.” The solution of a difficult problem dawned upon her and instantly she returned to her former argument. “Don’ you drive dat caah no fas’er den er hoss an’ er ker’idge kin go,” she commanded.

It is of record that even a worm upon extreme irritation will fall upon its tormentor. Thus Ike reacted to this notable example of feminine ignorance. “How’s ah gwine mek dis yere high powah caah run dat slow? Ah ast you dat? How’s ah gwine do it?”

Apparently heedless of this incipient rebellion, Serena gave her attention to her young mistress, “Good bye, honey chil’,” she worried. “Don’ you mek youse’f sick on sody an’ ice cream.”

Virginia smiled sweetly at the now beaming black face of the negro woman. “I’ll be very careful,” she promised.

Serena devoted herself again to her minion. “You Ike, go slow. Go mighty cafful. Dat’s wot ah say.”

He looked askance at her. Every vestige of humor had departed from the black face replaced by a cold, implacable glare. Without a word, he started the machine and it glided down the drive.

Her purchases completed, Virginia sat musing upon the message from her mother as the big car hummed softly towards the quiet beauty of the river road. Vague plans, indefinite as dreams, floated through her mind.

Ike was obeying Serena’s wishes so faithfully that the absence of excitement, so essential to the display of what he considered his best talents, was almost lulling him to sleep.

A large bill board fenced the front of a vacant lot, on their way. A magnificent example of the lithographer’s art, as adapted to the advertising needs of a minstrel show, was posted upon it. It’s coloring, chiefly red, was effective and forceful and displayed an extravagant disregard of the high cost of ink. It portrayed the triumphant passage of the Jubilee Minstrels. The brilliant uniforms, the martial air of the musicians as well as the exceeding pleasure with which this aggregation appeared to be welcomed by the reviewing public, was of a character to please, to impress, yes, even to stun all beholders, except the blind.

This picture caught the soul of Ike as he came within the scope of its influence. To him, applause and admiration were as strong drink. Envy knocked at his heart as he beheld the bright raiment. He visualized himself, thus dazzlingly attired, exhibited to his admiring fellow townsmen. Violating speed laws was infantile piffle to this. A syncopated melody, appropriate to a victorious march, blared in memory’s ear. He hummed it softly. His body twitched to the rhythm and his feet took up the cadence. He pressed a pedal and the powerful car accelerated its motion well above the modest limits commanded by Serena. To the shell of Ike, the increased speed was but a return to normal. His spirit was away. Expanding as a morning-glory to the sun, it paraded, in wondrous garments, to martial music, before gaping thousands.

A turn in their way was before them. Ike partially roused himself from his sweet dreams and automatically attended to the necessities of the moment. These included no slackening of speed.

The car swung a corner and instantly thereafter there came a mighty groaning of brakes as it was finally stopped in the midst of what had been an orderly procession of small negro children. The startling arrival of the big machine had scattered them, with shrill cries and screams, in every direction.

Virginia was alarmed at the sudden halt and at the frightened outcries of the youngsters. She leaped out. On the curb an excited colored woman was holding a weeping black boy by the hand. He was very small and, because of a deformed leg, used a crutch. Between efforts to reassemble her scattered charges, she endeavored to calm and comfort him.

Hurrying to the woman, Virginia cried, “I’m so sorry.”

“Much good sorry gwine do after you kill somebody,” shouted the woman, much angered by the occurrence. “Ain’ you got no bettah sense ’en to run down a lot o’ chillun?”

“It would have been terrible if we had hurt one of them. I never would have forgiven myself. We couldn’t see them until we turned the corner.” In her excitement she sought friendly support. “Could we, Ike?”

To Ike, it was a