Читать книгу Samantha on the Race Problem онлайн

86 страница из 88

He never had mistrusted; it made him feel so awful good to run the South further down than anything or anybody wuz ever run—he never mistrusted that he had ever done anything onjust, or mean, or selfish.

He loved to deplore Southern sins, but never looked to see if Northerners wuzn’t committin’ jest as ojeus ones.

I mean good, well-meanin’ Christian men, not to say anything about our white slaves in the cities who make shirts for five cents apiece, and sign their contracts with their blood.

Nor the old young children who are shut away from God’s sunshine and air in Northern manufactories and mines, and who are never free to be out under the beautiful sky till the sun has gone down or the grass is growin’ between it and their hollow, pitiful faces.

Nor the droves of street ruffians and beggars whose souls and bodies suffer and hunger jest as much under the Northern Star as under the Southern Cross.

No, I didn’t mean any of these, but jest respectable church-goers like Deacon Henzy.

And he, like so many others, wuz jest as blind to the idee as if he had been born with leather spectacles on and had wore ’em ever sence.