Silas Xavier Floyd's Short Stories for Colored People Both Old and Young

George Washington Jones was his name. Where he got it nobody knew,—least of all himself. For two years he had sold newspapers one block from the big St. Charles Hotel in New Orleans. Very slender, with great big hungry eyes, this little colored waif presented a pitiful sight to the crowds that hurried by. He was scorned by the other newsboys, who yelled and jeered at him, causing him to shrink up even smaller and to glance fearfully at his tormentors, for George was what the other boys called a coward. He would not fight,—when attacked and imposed upon by his more sturdy associates he would throw up his hands and cower down against the ground like a whipped dog. All boys know what this means,—for months he was the mark for all of the coarse jokes and abuse of the rather rough lot of boys who were also engaged in the newspaper selling business thereabouts. He had lived ever since he remembered with an old colored man in a wretched attic over on the South Side,—the old man was a rag peddler and permitted him to share his miserable quarters for the payment of fifty cents every Saturday night. Poor food and poorer sleeping quarters had their effect, and George soon developed a hacking cough that made people turn their heads to see who it was and then hurry on faster than ever. One cold morning in December, while George stood shivering on his corner, scarcely able to shout loud enough to attract the attention of the passers by, a lady about to enter an automobile glanced at him, noted pityingly his emaciated and half-starved appearance, and the cough that wracked his slight frame,—she stepped up and asked him his name and address, which he gave, gazing in spell-bound admiration at this beautiful, fairy-like creature from a different world.

It so happened that this young lady’s father was a very influential man, and so in course of time the lady who had in the meantime called several times at George’s wretched quarters, with eggs and milk and other dainties, prevailed upon him to arrange for George to spend the spring and summer in the country.

So one bright day in April, George arrived at a big Louisiana plantation where he was to have good food and clothes, and when able, to do odd jobs and chores about the place to pay for his board. The Grahams were a couple who had been married seven or eight years and who had a little daughter of six who was a dainty and pretty little miss, somewhat spoiled, but naturally kind and good-hearted. To George she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, an angel, not to be thought of at the same time with earthly things. He soon became her devoted slave, following her about and trying to think of something he could do that would make her happy.

Now George did not change in the first few weeks of his stay with the Grahams. He was afraid of the cows, of the horses, even of the geese that ran around the yard. Little Louise, who had been raised in the country, could not understand this feeling and did not hesitate to let George know that she had nothing but contempt for his running wildly away from an inoffensive cow who happened to turn her head in his direction.