The Fire in the Flint by Walter White

Two months passed by. Kenneth had begun to secure more patients than he could very well handle. Already he was kept busier than Dr. Williams though there was enough practice for both of them. Kenneth soon began to tire of treating minor ailments and longed to reach the time when he could give up his general practice and devote his time to surgery. Except for the delivery of the babies that came with amazing rapidity in the community, he did little else than treat colic, minor cuts, children's diseases, with an occasional case of tuberculosis. More frequently he treated for venereal diseases, though this latter was even more distasteful to him than general practice while at the same time more remunerative.

A new source of practice and revenue began gradually to grow. The main entrance to his office was on Lee Street. This door was some fifty feet back from Lee Street, and the overhanging branches of the elms cut off completely the light from the street lamp at the corner. One night, as he sat reading in his office, there came a knock at his door. Opening it, he found standing there Roy Ewing. Ewing had inherited the general merchandise store bearing his name from his father, was a deacon in the largest Baptist Church in Central City, was president of the Central City Chamber of Commerce, and was regarded as a leading citizen.

Kenneth gazed at his caller in some surprise.

"Hello, Ken. Anybody around?"

On being assured that he was alone, Ewing entered, brushing by Kenneth to get out of the glare of the light. Kenneth followed him into the office, meanwhile asking his caller what he could do for him.

"Ken, I've got a little job I want you to do for me. I'm in a little trouble. Went up to Macon last month with Bill Jackson, and we had a little fun. I guess I took too much liquor. We went by a place Bill knew about where there were some girls. I took a fancy to a little girl from Atlanta who told me she had slipped away from home and her folks thought she was visiting her cousins at Forsyth. Anyhow, I thought everything was all right, but I'm in a bad way and I want you to treat me. I can't go to Dr. Bennett 'cause I don't want him to know about it. I'll take care of you all right, and if you get me fixed up I'll pay you well."

Kenneth looked at him in amazement. Roy Ewing, acknowledged leader of the "superior race"! He knew too much of the ways of the South, however, to make any comment or let too much of what was going on in his mind show on his face. He gave the treatment required. That was Kenneth's introduction to one part of the work of a coloured physician in the South. Many phases of life that he as a youth had never known about or, before his larger experience in the North and in France, had passed by him unnoticed, he now had brought to his attention. This was one of them. He began to see more clearly that his was going to be a difficult course to pursue. He determined anew that as far as possible he would keep to his own affairs and meddle not at all with the life about him.

When Ewing had gone, Kenneth returned to his reading. Hardly had he started again when Bob came in.

"Can you stop for a few minutes, Ken? I want to talk with you."

With a look of regret at his book, Kenneth settled back and prepared to listen.

"What world problem have you got on your mind now, Bob?"

"Don't start to kidding me, Ken. I don't see how you can shut your eyes to how coloured people are being treated here."

"What's wrong? Everything seems to me to be getting along as well as can be expected."

"That's because you don't go out of the house unless you are hurrying to give somebody a pill or a dose of medicine. Today I came by the school to get Mamie and bring her home. You ought to see the dump they call a school building. It's a dirty old building that looks like it'll fall down any time a hard wind comes along. All that's inside is a rickety table, and some hard benches with no desks, and when it rains they have to send the children home, as the water stands two or three inches deep on the floor. Outside of Mamie they haven't one teacher who's gone any higher than the sixth or seventh grade -- they have to take anybody who is willing to work for the twelve dollars a month they pay coloured teachers."

Bob's face had on it the look of discontent and resentment that was almost growing chronic.

"Well, what can we do about it? I'm afraid you're getting to be a regular Atlas, trying to carry all the burdens of the world on your shoulders. I know things aren't all they ought to be, but you and I can't solve the problems. The race problem will be here long after we're dead and gone."

"Oh, for goodness' sake, shut up that preachy tone of long-suffering patience, will you? -- and forget your own little interests for a while. I know you think I'm silly to let these things worry me. But the reason why things are as bad as they are is just because the majority of Negroes are like you -- always dodging anything that may make them unpopular with white folks. And that isn't all. There's a gang of white boys that hang around Ewing's Store that meddle with every coloured girl that goes by. I was in the store today when Minnie Baxter passed by on her way to the post office, and that dirty little Jim Archer said something that made me boil all over. And it didn't help any to know that if I had said a word to him, there would have been a fight, and I would have been beaten half to death if I hadn't been killed."

"Yes, I've seen that, too. What we ought to do is to try and keep these girls off of Lee Street, unless someone is with them. If we weren't living in the South, we might do something. But here we are, and as long as we stay here, we've got to swallow a lot of these things and stay to ourselves."