The Accursed Read Free Page B

flew ahead of his words, when he was in an emotional mood; which was why, as he’d been warned, and had warned himself, he must not be carried away by any rush of emotion. “—of confronting the Klan, and their myriad supporters in the state, who are not so many as in the South and yet—and yet—they are many . . .”
    “ ‘Supporters’ in the state? Do you mean, ‘law-abiding Christian hypocrites’? The hell with them! You must speak out.”
    “I—I must—‘speak’—? But—the issue is not so—simple . . .”
    It had been a shock to Woodrow, though not exactly a surprise, that, of the twenty-five trustees of Princeton University, who had hired him out of the ranks of the faculty, and whose bidding he was expected to exercise, to a degree, were not, on the whole, as one soon gathered, unsympathetic to the white supremacist doctrine, though surely appalled, as any civilized person would be, by the Klan’s strategies of terror. Keeping the Negroes in their place was the purpose of the Klan’s vigilante activities, and not violence for its own sake—as the Klan’s supporters argued.
    Keeping the purity of the white race from mongrelization— this was a yet more basic tenet, with which very few Caucasians were likely to disagree.
    But Woodrow could not hope to reason with Yaeger Ruggles, in the seminarian’s excitable mood.
    Nor could Woodrow pursue this conversation at the present time, for he had a pressing appointment within a few minutes, with one of his (sadly few) confidants among the Princeton faculty; more urgently, he was feeling unmistakably nauseated, a warning signal of more extreme nausea to come if he didn’t soon take a teaspoonful of the “calming” medicine prescribed to him by Dr. Hatch, kept in a drawer in the president’s desk.
    “Well, Yaeger. It is a terrible, terrible thing—as you have reported to me—a ‘lynching’—alleged . . . We may expect this in south Jersey but not in Camden, so near Philadelphia! But I’m afraid I can’t speak with you much longer, as I have an appointment at . . . Yaeger, what on earth is wrong?”
    Woodrow was shocked to see that his young kinsman, who had always regarded Woodrow Wilson with the utmost respect and admiration, was now glaring at him, as a sulky and self-righteous adolescent might glare at a parent.
    The carelessly shaven jaws were trembling with disdain, or frank dislike. The nostrils were widened, very dark. And the eyes were not so attractive now but somewhat protuberant, like the eyes of a wild beast about to leap.
    Yaeger’s voice was not so gently modulated now but frankly insolent: “What is wrong with—who, Woodrow? Me? Or you?”
    Woodrow protested angrily, “Yaeger, that’s enough. You may be a distant relation of mine, through my father’s family, but that—that does not—give you the right to be disrespectful to me, and to speak in a loud voice to upset my staff. This ‘ugly episode’—as you have reported it to me—is a good example of why we must not allow our emotions to govern us. We must have a—a civilization of law —and not—not—anarchy.”
    Stubbornly Yaeger persisted: “Will you talk to Winslow Slade, at least? If he could preach from his pulpit, this Sunday—that would be a good, brave thing for Princeton; and maybe it would get into the newspapers. And if the president of Princeton, Woodrow Wilson, could give a public comment also—”
    “Yaeger, I’ve told you! I can’t discuss this now. I have an appointment at three-fifteen, and I—I am not feeling altogether well, as a consequence of our exchange.”
    “Well, I’m sorry for that. Very sorry to hear that.”
    (Was Yaeger speaking sarcastically? Woodrow could not bring himself to believe so.)
    Woodrow wanted to protest: he was a friend to the Negro race, surely!
    He was a Democrat . In every public utterance, he spoke of equality .
    Though he did not believe in women’s suffrage—certainly. Very few persons of his