bosomed to Molly the plots of the White Supremacy
League in all its blood-curdling details, naming every man and woman who
were to be the victims of the mob's fury.

"Do you think that a very brave thing to do?" asked Molly at the
conclusion of Ben's recital.

"Oh, anything is fair in dealing with Niggers," answered Ben. But the
look of astonishment in Molly's black eyes suddenly brought Ben
Hartright to the full realization that he was revealing the secrets of
his klan to one of the race he was plotting to massacre.

"Of course we don't include such as you, Molly," he said, lightly
tapping her on the shoulder. "You are no Nigger, you are nearly as white
as I am."

"Nearly as white," echoed Molly with a sneer. "Do you mean to try to
choke it down my throat that my whiteness would save me should your
people rise up against Niggers in Wilmington? Honestly, Ben Hartright,
do you mean that?" Molly arose from the sofa and stood up before her
lover that she might the better study his face. Hartright was silent.

In Southern legislative halls white minorities in old Reconstruction
days ruled Republican majorities by appealing to the vanity of
light-skinned Negro representatives.

"You are almost white, why vote with them Niggers?" Ben Hartright was
using the old tactics; he had realized that he perhaps had been careless
with his secrets. "What I really mean, Molly, is that you are a friend
of white people--that is you are not one of those Nigger wenches who
want to be er--er--ladies--that want Nigger dudes to raise their hats to
them--want to be like white people you know."

"I understand," said Molly.

"We white gentlemen believe in having colored girl friends, and we
always stand by them no matter what happens." Molly momentarily eyed the
ceiling.

"Benny, did you ever read Uncle Tom's Cabin?"

"Yes, I have," answered Ben, but it has been too long ago to remember
very much of its contents.

"Why? Everybody should read that book it seems to me; read and read
again Cassie's story of her love for the man who after promising to
protect and defend her, sneaked away and sold her. Cassie was almost
white. Cassie was a white man's friend, and to that man she was true;
but Cassie's story of betrayal, disappointment, misery at the hands of
that long haired brute who afterwards became her master, would make the
strongest heart weep. _You will stand by your colored girl friend._
Perhaps you think you would, but I doubt it,