Test Bank for Managerial Economics 4th Edition Froeb McCann Ward

Shor 1305259335 9781305259331

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1. One lesson of business:
a. is tracing the consequences of a policy.
b. promoting a policy change to eradicate inefficiencies.
c. moving assets from lower to higher value uses, thereby creating wealth. d. None of the above
ANSWER: c
TOPICS: Section 1: Capitalism and Wealth

2. An individual’s value for a good or service is the

a. The amount of money he or she used to pay for a good
b. The amount of money he or she is willing to pay for it
c. The amount of money he or she has to spend on goods
d. None of the above
ANSWER: b
TOPICS: Section 1: Capitalism and Wealth

3. The difference between Capitalism and Socialism is that

a. Capitalism is concerned more about how to slice up the “pie”
b. Socialism is concerned with making the “pie” as large as possible
c. Capitalism is concerned with making the “pie” as large as possible
d. Both A and B
ANSWER: c
TOPICS: Section 1: Capitalism and Wealth

4. A consumer values a car at $30,000 and a producer values the same car at $20,000. If the transaction is completed at
$24,000, the transaction will generate:
a. No surplus
b. $4,000 worth of seller surplus and unknown amount of buyer surplus
c. $6,000 worth of buyer surplus and $4,000 of seller surplus
d. $6,000 worth of buyer surplus and unknown amount of seller surplus
ANSWER: c

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TOPICS: Section 1: Capitalism and Wealth

5. A consumer values a car at $30,000 and a producer values the same car at $20,000. The transaction will not take place
if a tax is imposed
a. equal to the seller surplus
b. smaller than the total surplus
c. larger than the total surplus
d. smaller than the buyer surplus
ANSWER: c
TOPICS: Section 1: Capitalism and Wealth

6. A consumer values a car at $30,000 and a producer values the same car at $20,000. If the transaction is completed at
$24,000, what level of sales tax will result in unconsummated transaction? a. 0%
b. 25%
c. 20%
d. 40%
ANSWER: d
TOPICS: Section 1: Capitalism and Wealth

7. A consumer values a car at $30,000 and a producer values the same car at $20,000. What amount of tax will result in
unconsummated transaction?
a. $4,000
b. $9,000
c. $15,000
d. $2,000
ANSWER: c
TOPICS: Section 1: Capitalism and Wealth

8. A consumer values a car at $30,000 and a producer values the same car at $20,000. If a tax is levied on the seller, what
level of tax will result in unconsummated transaction?
a. 0%
b. 25%
c. 60%
d. 40%
ANSWER: c
TOPICS: Section 1: Capitalism and Wealth

9. A consumer values a house at $525,000 and a producer values the same house at $485,000. If the transaction is completed
at $510,000, the transaction will generate:
a. No surplus
b. $25,000 worth of seller surplus and unknown amount of buyer surplus
c. $15,000 worth of buyer surplus and $25,000 of seller surplus
d. $25,000 worth of buyer surplus and unknown amount of seller surplus
ANSWER: c
TOPICS: Section 1: Capitalism and Wealth

10. A consumer values a house at $525,000 and a producer values the same house at $485,000. If the transaction is completed
at $510,000, what amount of tax will result in unconsummated transaction? a. A tax of $9,000
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 b. A tax of $14,000
c. A tax of $15,000
d. A tax of $18,000
ANSWER: d
TOPICS: Section 1: Capitalism and Wealth

11. A consumer values a house at $525,000 and a producer values the same house at $485,000. If the transaction is completed
at $510,000, what level of tax rate will result in unconsummated transaction? a. 1%
b. 5%
c. 3%
d. 2%
ANSWER: b
TOPICS: Section 1: Capitalism and Wealth

12. A buyer values a house at $525,000 and a seller values the same house at $485,000. If sales tax is 8% and is levied on
the seller, then what would be the lowest price that the seller would be willing to sell at? a. $527,000
b. $523,800
c. $525,000
d. $500,000
ANSWER: b
TOPICS: Section 1: Capitalism and Wealth

13. A buyer values a house at $525,000 and a seller values the same house at $485,000. If sales tax is 8% and is levied on
the buyer, then, what would be the highest price that the buyer would be willing to pay? a. $525,000
b. $523,800
c. $485,000
d. $486,111
ANSWER: d
TOPICS: Section 1: Capitalism and Wealth

14. The difference between the maximum price the consumer is willing to pay and the price the consumer actually pays for
a product is referred to as:
a. market surplus.
b. market shortage.
c. consumer surplus.
d. producer surplus.
ANSWER: c
TOPICS: Section 1: Capitalism and Wealth

15. If you are willing to sell your car business for $500,000 and someone offers you $420,000 for it, this transaction will
generate:
a. There is no surplus created
b. $80,000 worth of seller surplus and unknown amount of buyer surplus
c. $40,000 worth of buyer surplus and $40,000 of seller surplus
d. $80,000 worth of buyer surplus and unknown amount of seller surplus
ANSWER: a
TOPICS: Section 1: Capitalism and Wealth
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16. If you are willing to purchase a house for $300,000 and you purchase the house for $275,000, this transaction will
generate:
a. There is no surplus created
b. $25,000 worth of seller surplus and unknown amount of buyer surplus
c. $10,000 worth of buyer surplus and $15,000 of seller surplus
d. $25,000 worth of buyer surplus and unknown amount of seller surplus
ANSWER: d
TOPICS: Section 1: Capitalism and Wealth

17. If you are willing to purchase a house for $500,000 and you purchase the house for $500,000, this transaction will
generate:
a. There is no surplus created for either of the party.
b. $0 worth of seller surplus and unknown amount of buyer surplus.
c. $0 worth of buyer surplus and unknown amount of seller surplus.
d. No information provided.
ANSWER: c
TOPICS: Section 1: Capitalism and Wealth

18. Total surplus or gains created from trade equal

a. Seller surplus
b. Buyer surplus
c. The summation of seller and buyer surplus
d. Profits earned by a firm
ANSWER: c
TOPICS: Section 1: Capitalism and Wealth

19. The biggest advantage of capitalism is that

a. It generates wealth with the help of government intervention
b. Prices hinder in moving assets from high-value to low-value uses
c. It forces involuntary exchanges
d. It creates wealth by letting a person follow his or her own self-interest
ANSWER: d
TOPICS: Section 1: Capitalism and Wealth

20. The difference between the minimum price the producer is willing to accept and the price the producer actually receives
for a product is referred to as:
a. market surplus.
b. market shortage.
c. consumer surplus.
d. producer surplus.
ANSWER: d
TOPICS: Section 1: Capitalism and Wealth

21. If you are willing to sell your lawn mower business for $355,000 and someone offers you $420,000 for it, this transaction
will generate:
a. There is no surplus created
b. $65,000 worth of seller surplus and unknown amount of buyer surplus
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 c. $30,000 worth of buyer surplus and $35,000 of seller surplus
d. $65,000 worth of buyer surplus and unknown amount of seller surplus
ANSWER: b
TOPICS: Section 1: Capitalism and Wealth

22. Wealth is created when

a. Assets move from lower value use to higher value use
b. Assets move from higher value use to lower value use
c. Assets move from individuals who are willing to pay less for them to individuals who are willing to pay more
for them
d. Both A and C
ANSWER: a
TOPICS: Section 1: Capitalism and Wealth

23. A creative entrepreneur is one who knows how to

a. Run a business
b. Escape the burden of taxes
c. Profitably exploit money making opportunities
d. All of the above
ANSWER: c
TOPICS: Section 1: Capitalism and Wealth

24. An advantage of capitalism is that

a. It allows the market to self-regulate and clear itself
b. It allows a person to follow his or her own self interest
c. It allows voluntary transactions, which create wealth
d. All of the above
ANSWER: d
TOPICS: Section 1: Capitalism and Wealth

25. Which of the following describes a firm?

a. Purchases labor hours from workers
b. Borrows capital from investors
c. Combines labor and capital to create production, moving them from their low value use to high value use d. All of
the above
ANSWER: d
TOPICS: Section 1: Capitalism and Wealth

26. If company X is successfully outsourcing its production of T-shirts to China, it is

a. Creating wealth by moving labor in China from lower value use to higher value use
b. Should be stopped on economic grounds since it is destroying wealth
c. Destroying wealth by acquiring cheaper labor from China
d. Both A & C
ANSWER: a
TOPICS: Section 1: Capitalism and Wealth

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Another document from Scribd.com that is
random and unrelated content:
Matthew and Bunny retired to the private office of the Grand Exalted
Giraw.
"What you thinkin' about pullin'?" asked Bunny.
"Plenty. We'll try the old sure fire Negro problem stuff."
"But that's ancient history, Brother," protested Bunny. "These ducks
won't fall for that any more."
"Bunny, I've learned something on this job, and that is that hatred and
prejudice always go over big. These people have been raised on the
Negro problem, they're used to it, they're trained to react to it. Why
should I rack my brain to hunt up something else when I can use a dodge
that's always delivered the goods?"
"It may go over at that."
"I know it will. Just leave it to me," said Matthew confidently. "That's
not worrying me at all. What's got my goat is my wife being in the
family way." Matthew stopped bantering a moment, a sincere look of
pain erasing his usual ironic expression.
"Congratulations!" burbled Bunny.
"Don't rub it in," Matthew replied. "You know how the kid will look."
"That's right," agreed his pal. "You know, sometimes I forget who we
are."
"Well, I don't. I know I'm a darky and I'm always on the alert."
"What do you intend to do?"
"I don't know, Big Boy, I don't know. I would ordinarily send her to one
of those Lying-in Hospitals but she'd be suspicious. Yet, if the kid is born
it'll sure be black."
"It won't be white," Bunny agreed. "Why not tell her the whole thing and
since she's so crazy about you, I don't think she'd hesitate to go."
"Man, you must be losing your mind, or else you've lost it!" Matthew
exploded. "She's a worse nigger-hater than her father. She'd holler for a
divorce before you could say Jack Robinson."
"You've got too much money for that."
"You're assuming that she has plenty of intelligence."
"Hasn't she?"
"Let's not discuss a painful subject," pleaded Matthew. "Suggest a
remedy."
"She don't have to know that she's going to one of Crookman's places,
does she?"
"No, but I can't get her to leave home to have the baby."
"Why?"
"Oh, a lot of damn sentiment about having her baby in the old home, and
her damned old mother supports her. So what can I do?"
"Then, the dear old homestead is the only thing that's holding up the
play?"
"You're a smart boy, Bunny."
"Don't stress the obvious. Seriously, though, I think everything can be
fixed okeh."
"How?" cried Matthew, eagerly.
"Is it worth five grand?" countered Bunny.
"Money's no object, you know, but explain your proposition."
"I will not. You get me fifty century notes and I'll explain later."
"It's a deal, old friend."
Bunny Brown was a man of action. That evening he entered the popular
Niggerhead Café, rendezvous of the questionable classes, and sat down
at a table. The place was crowded with drinkers downing their "white
mule" and contorting to the strains issuing from a radio loud-speaker. A
current popular dance piece, "The Black Man Blues," was filling the
room. The songwriters had been making a fortune recently writing
sentimental songs about the passing of the Negro. The plaintive voice of
a blues singer rushed out of the loud-speaker:

"I wonder where my big, black man has gone;

Oh, I wonder where my big, black man has gone.
Has he done got faded an' left me all alone?"

When the music ceased and the dancers returned to their tables, Bunny
began to look around. In a far corner he saw a waiter whose face seemed
familiar. He waited until the fellow came close when he hailed him. As
the waiter bent over to get his order, he studied him closely. He had seen
this fellow somewhere before. Who could he be? Suddenly with a start
he remembered. It was Dr. Joseph Bonds, former head of the Negro Data
League in New York. What had brought him here and to this condition?
The last time he had seen Bonds, the fellow was a power in the Negro
world, with a country place in Westchester County and a swell apartment
in town. It saddened Bunny to think that catastrophe had overtaken such
a man. Even getting white, it seemed, hadn't helped him much. He
recalled that Bonds in his heyday had collected from the white
philanthropists with the slogan: "Work, Not Charity," and he smiled as he
thought that Bonds would be mighty glad now to get a little charity and
not so much work.
"Would a century note look good to you right now?" he asked the former
Negro leader when he returned with his drink.
"Just show it to me, Mister," said the waiter, licking his lips. "What you
want me to do?"
"What will you do for a hundred berries?" pursued Bunny.
"I'd hate to tell you," replied Bonds, grinning and revealing his familiar
tobacco-stained teeth.
"Have you got a friend you can trust?"
"Sure, a fellow named Licorice that washes pots in back."
"You don't mean Santop Licorice, do you?"
"Ssh! They don't know who he is here. He's white now, you know."
"Do they know who you are?"
"What do you mean?" gasped the surprised waiter.
"Oh, I won't say anything but I know you're Bonds of New York."
"Who told you?"
"Oh, a little fairy."
"How could that be? I never associate with them."
"It wasn't that kind of a fairy," Bunny reassured him, laughing. "Well,
you get Licorice and come to my hotel when this place closes up."
"Where is that?" asked Bonds. Bunny wrote his name and room number
down on a piece of paper and handed it to him.
Three hours later Bunny was awakened by a knocking at his door. He
admitted Bonds and Licorice, the latter smelling strongly of steam and
food.
"Here," said Bunny, holding up a hundred dollar bill, "is a century note.
If you boys can lay aside your scruples for a few hours you can have five
of them apiece."
"Well," said Bonds, "neither Santop nor I have been overburdened with
them."
"That's what I thought," Bunny murmured. He proceeded to outline the
work he wanted them to do.
"But that would be a criminal offense," objected Licorice.
"You too, Brutus?" sneered Bonds.
"Well, we can't afford to take chances unless we're protected," the former
President of Africa argued rather weakly. He was money-hungry and was
longing for a stake to get back to Demerara where, since there was a
large Negro population, a white man, by virtue of his complexion,
amounted to something. Yet, he had had enough experience behind the
bars to make him wary.
"We run this town and this state, too," Bunny assured him. "We could get
a couple of our men to pull this stunt but it wouldn't be good policy."
"How about a thousand bucks apiece?" asked Bonds, his eyes glittering
as he viewed the crisp banknotes in Bunny's hand.
"Here," said Bunny. "Take this century note between you, get your
material and pull the job. When you've finished I'll give you nineteen
more like it between you."
The two cronies looked at each other and nodded.
"It's a go," said Bonds.
They departed and Bunny went back to sleep.
The next night about eleven-thirty the bells began to toll and the
mournful sirens of the fire engines awakened the entire neighborhood in
the vicinity of Rev. Givens's home. That stately edifice, built by Ku Klux
Klan dollars was in flames. Firemen played a score of streams onto the
blaze but the house appeared to be doomed.
On a lawn across the street, in the midst of a consoling crowd, stood Rev.
and Mrs. Givens, Helen and Matthew. The old couple were taking the
catastrophe fatalistically, Matthew was puzzled and suspicious, but
Helen was in hysterics. She presented a bedraggled and woebegone
appearance with a blanket around her night dress. She wept afresh every
time she looked across at the blazing building where she had spent her
happy childhood.
"Matthew," she sobbed, "will you build me another one just like it?"
"Why certainly, Honey," he agreed, "but it will take quite a while."
"Oh, I know; I know, but I want it."
"Well, you'll get it, darling," he soothed, "but I think it would be a good
idea for you to go away for a while to rest your nerves. We've got to
think of the little one that's coming, you know."
"I don't wanna go nowhere," she screamed.
"But you've got to go somewhere," he reasoned. "Don't you think so,
Mother?" Old Mrs. Givens agreed it would be a good idea but suggested
that she go along. To this Rev. Givens would not listen at first but he
finally yielded.
"Guess it's a good idea after all," he remarked. "Women folks is always
in th' way when buildin's goin' on."
Matthew was tickled at the turn of affairs. On the way down to the hotel,
he sat beside Helen, alternately comforting her and wondering as to the
origin of the fire.
Next morning, bright and early, Bunny, grinning broadly walked into the
office, threw his hat on a hook and sat down before his desk after the
customary salutation.
"Bunny," called Matthew, looking at him hard. "Get me told!"
"What do you mean?" asked Bunny innocently.
"Just as I thought," chuckled Matthew. "You're a nervy guy."
"Why, I don't get you," said Bunny, continuing the pose.
"Come clean, Big Boy. How much did that fire cost?"
"You gave me five grand, didn't you?"
"Just like a nigger: a person can never get a direct answer from you."
"Are you satisfied?"
"I'm not crying my eyes out."
"Is Helen going North for her confinement?"
"Nothing different."
"Well, then, why do you want to know the why and wherefore of that
blaze?"
"Just curiosity, Nero, old chap," grinned Matthew.
"Remember," warned Bunny, mischievously, "curiosity killed the cat."
The ringing of the telephone bell interrupted their conversation.
"What's that?" yelled Matthew into the mouthpiece. "The hell you say!
All right, I'll be right up." He hung up the receiver, jumped up excitedly
and grabbed his hat.
"What's the matter?" shouted Bunny. "Somebody dead?"
"No," answered the agitated Matthew, "Helen's had a miscarriage," and
he dashed out of the room.
"Somebody dead right on," murmured Bunny, half aloud.

Joseph Bonds and Santop Licorice, clean shaven and immaculate,

followed the Irish red cap into their drawing room on the New York
Express.
"It sure feels good to get out of the barrel once more," sighed Bonds,
dropping down on the soft cushion and pulling out a huge cigar.
"Ain't it the truth?" agreed the former Admiral of the Royal African
Navy.

CHAPTER NINE
"Bunny, I've got it all worked out," announced Matthew, several
mornings later, as he breezed into the office.
"Got what worked out?"
"The political proposition."
"Spill it."
"Well, here it is: First, we get Givens on the radio; national hookup, you
know, once a week for about two months."
"What'll he talk about? Are you going to write it for him?"
"Oh, he knows how to charm the yokels. He'll appeal to the American
people to call upon the Republican administration to close up the
sanitariums of Dr. Crookman and deport everybody connected with
Black-No-More."
"You can't deport citizens, silly," Bunny remonstrated.
"That don't stop you from advocating it. This is politics, Big Boy."
"Well, what else is on the program?"
"Next: We start a campaign of denunciation against the Republicans in
The Warning, connecting them with the Pope, Black-No-More and
anything else we can think of."
"But they were practically anti-Catholic in 1928, weren't they?"
"Seven years ago, Bunny, seven years ago. How often must I tell you
that the people never remember anything? Next we pull the old Write-to-
your-Congressman-Write-to-your-Senator stuff. We carry the form letter
in The Warning, the readers do the rest."
"You can't win a campaign on that stuff, alone," said Bunny disdainfully.
"Bring me something better than that, Brother."
"Well, the other step is a surprise, old chap. I'm going to keep it under
my hat until later on. But when I spring it, old timer, it'll knock
everybody for a row of toadstools." Matthew smiled mysteriously and
smoothed back his pale blond hair.
"When do we start this radio racket?" yawned Bunny.
"Wait'll I talk it over with the Chief," said Matthew, rising, "and see how
he's dated up."
The following Thursday evening at 8:15 p.m. millions of people sat
before their loud speakers, expectantly awaiting the heralded address to
the nation by the Imperial Grand Wizard of the Knights of Nordica. The
program started promptly:
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen of the radio audience. This is
Station W H A T, Atlanta, Ga., Mortimer K. Shanker announcing. This
evening we are offering a program of tremendous interest to every
American citizen. The countrywide hookup over the chain of the
Moronia Broadcasting Company is enabling one hundred million citizens
to hear one of the most significant messages ever delivered to the
American public.
"Before introducing the distinguished speaker of the evening, however, I
have a little treat in store for you. Mr. Jack Albert, the well-known
Broadway singer and comedian, has kindly consented to render his
favorite among the popular songs of the day, 'Vanishing Mammy.' Mr.
Albert will be accompanied by that incomparable aggregation of musical
talent, Sammy Snort's Bogalusa Babies.... Come on, Al, say a word or
two to the ladies and gentlemen of the radio audience before you begin."
"Oh, hello folks. Awfully glad to see so many of you out there tonight.
Well, that is to say, I suppose there are many of you out there. You know
I like to flatter myself, besides I haven't my glasses so I can't see very
well. However, that's not the pint, as the bootleggers say. I'm terribly
pleased to have the opportunity of starting off a program like this with
one of the songs I have come to love best. You know, I think a whole lot
of this song. I like it because it has feeling and sentiment. It means
something. It carries you back to the good old days that are dead and
gone forever. It was written by Johnny Gulp with music by the eminent
Japanese-American composer, Forkrise Sake. And, as Mr. Shanker told
you, I am being accompanied by Sammy Snort's Bogalusa Babies
through the courtesy of the Artillery Café, Chicago, Illinois. All right,
Sammy, smack it!"
In two seconds the blare of the jazz orchestra smote the ears of the
unseen audience with the weird medley and clash of sound that had
passed for music since the days of the Panama-Pacific Exposition. Then
the sound died to a whisper and the plaintive voice of America's premier
black-faced troubadour came over the air:
 Vanishing Mammy, Mammy! Mammy! of Mine,
You've been away, dear, such an awfully long time.
You went away, Sweet Mammy! Mammy! one summer night
I can't help thinkin', Mammy, that you went white.
Of course I can't blame you, Mammy! Mammy! dear
Because you had so many troubles, Mammy, to bear.
But the old homestead hasn't been the same
Since I last heard you, Mammy, call my name.
And so I wait, loving Mammy, it seems in vain,
For you to come waddling back home again
Vanishing Mammy! Mammy! Mammy!
I'm waiting for you to come back home again.

"Now, radio audience, this is Mr. Mortimer Shanker speaking again. I

know you all loved Mr. Albert's soulful rendition of 'Vanishing Mammy.'
We're going to try to get him back again in the very near future.
"It now gives me great pleasure to introduce to you a man who hardly
needs any introduction. A man who is known throughout the civilized
world. A man of great scholarship, executive ability and organizing
genius. A man who has, practically unassisted, brought five million
Americans under the banner of one of the greatest societies in this
country. It affords me great pleasure, ladies and gentlemen of the radio
audience, to introduce Rev. Henry Givens, Imperial Grand Wizard of the
Knights of Nordica, who will address you on the very timely topic of
'The Menace of Negro Blood'."
Rev. Givens, fortified with a slug of corn, advanced nervously to the
microphone, fingering his prepared address. He cleared his throat and
talked for upwards of an hour during which time he successfully avoided
saying anything that was true, the result being that thousands of
telegrams and long distance telephone calls of congratulation came in to
the studio. In his long address he discussed the foundations of the
Republic, anthropology, psychology, miscegenation, coöperation with
Christ, getting right with God, curbing Bolshevism, the bane of birth
control, the menace of the Modernists, science versus religion, and many
other subjects of which he was totally ignorant. The greater part of his
time was taken up in a denunciation of Black-No-More, Incorporated,
and calling upon the Republican administration of President Harold
Goosie to deport the vicious Negroes at the head of it or imprison them
in the federal penitentiary. When he had concluded "In the name of our
Saviour and Redeemer, Jesus Christ, Amen," he retired hastily to the
washroom to finish his half-pint of corn.
The announcer took Rev. Givens's place at the microphone:
"Now friends, this is Mortimer K. Shanker again, announcing from
Station W H A T, Atlanta, Ga., with a nationwide hookup over the chain
of the Moronia Broadcasting Company. You have just heard a scholarly
and inspiring address by Rev. Henry Givens, Imperial Grand Wizard of
the Knights of Nordica on 'The Menace of Negro Blood.' Rev. Givens
will deliver another address at this station a week from tonight.... Now,
to end our program for the evening, friends, we are going to have a
popular song by the well-known Goyter Sisters, lately of the State Street
Follies, entitled 'Why Did the Old Salt Shaker'...."

The agitation of the Knights of Nordica soon brought action from the
administration at Washington. About ten days after Rev. Givens had
ceased his talks over the radio, President Harold Goosie announced to
the assembled newspaper men that he was giving a great deal of study to
the questions raised by the Imperial Grand Wizard concerning Black-No-
More, Incorporated; that several truckloads of letters condemning the
corporation had been received at the White House and were now being
answered by a special corps of clerks; that several Senators had talked
over the matter with him, and that the country could expect him to take
some action within the next fortnight.
At the end of a fortnight, the President announced that he had decided to
appoint a commission of leading citizens to study the whole question
thoroughly and to make recommendations. He asked Congress for an
appropriation of $100,000 to cover the expenses of the commission.
The House of Representatives approved a resolution to that effect a week
later. The Senate, which was then engaged in a spirited debate on the
World Court and the League of Nations, postponed consideration of the
resolution for three weeks. When it came to vote before that august body,
it was passed, after long argument, with amendments and returned to the
House.
Six weeks after President Goosie had made his request of Congress, the
resolution was passed in its final form. He then announced that inside of
a week he would name the members of the commission.
The President kept his word. He named the commission, consisting of
seven members, five Republicans and two Democrats. They were mostly
politicians temporarily out of a job.
In a private car the commission toured the entire country, visiting all of
the Black-No-More sanitariums, the Crookman Lying-in Hospitals and
the former Black Belts. They took hundreds of depositions, examined
hundreds of witnesses and drank large quantities of liquor.
Two months later they issued a preliminary report in which they pointed
out that the Black-No-More sanitariums and Lying-in Hospitals were
being operated within the law; that only one million Negroes remained in
the country; that it was illegal in most of the states for pure whites and
persons of Negro ancestry to intermarry but that it was difficult to detect
fraud because of collusion. As a remedy the Commission recommended
stricter observance of the law, minor changes in the marriage laws, the
organization of special matrimonial courts with trained genealogists
attached to each, better equipped judges, more competent district
attorneys, the strengthening of the Mann Act, the abolition of the road
house, the closer supervision of dance halls, a stricter censorship on
books and moving pictures and government control of cabarets. The
commission promised to publish the complete report of its activities in
about six weeks.
Two months later, when practically everyone had forgotten that there had
ever been such an investigation, the complete report of the commission,
comprising 1789 pages in fine print came off the press. Copies were sent
broadcast to prominent citizens and organizations. Exactly nine people in
the United States read it: the warden of a county jail, the proofreader at
the Government Printing Office, the janitor of the City Hall in
Ashtabula, Ohio, the city editor of the Helena (Ark.) Bugle, a
stenographer in the Department of Health of Spokane, Wash., a
dishwasher in a Bowery restaurant, a flunky in the office of the Research
Director of Black-No-More, Incorporated, a life termer in Clinton Prison
at Dannemora, N. Y., and a gag writer on the staff of a humorous weekly
in Chicago.
Matthew received fulsome praise from the members of his organization
and the higher-ups in the Southern Democracy. He had, they said, forced
the government to take action, and they began to talk of him for public
office.
The Grand Exalted Giraw was jubilant. Everything, he told Bunny, had
gone as he had planned. Now he was ready to turn the next trick.
"What's that?" asked his assistant, looking up from the morning comic
section.
"Ever hear of the Anglo-Saxon Association of America?" Matthew
queried.
"No, what's their graft?"
"It isn't a graft, you crook. The Anglo-Saxon Association of America is
an organization located in Virginia. The headquarters are in Richmond.
It's a group of rich highbrows who can trace their ancestry back almost
two hundred years. You see they believe in white supremacy the same as
our outfit but they claim that the Anglo-Saxons are the cream of the
white race and should maintain the leadership in American social,
economic and political life."
"You sound like a college professor," sneered Bunny.
"Don't insult me, you tripe. Listen now: This crowd thinks they're too
highbrow to come in with the Knights of Nordica. They say our bunch
are morons."
"That about makes it unanimous," commented Bunny, biting off the end
of a cigar.
"Well, what I'm trying to do now is to bring these two organizations
together. We've got numbers but not enough money to win an election;
they have the jack. If I can get them to see the light we'll win the next
Presidential election hands down."
"What'll I be: Secretary of the Treasury?" laughed Bunny.
"Over my dead body!" Matthew replied, reaching for his flask. "But
seriously, Old Top, if I can succeed in putting this deal over we'll have
the White House in a bag. No fooling!"
"When do we get busy?"
"Next week this Anglo-Saxon Association has its annual meeting in
Richmond. You and I'll go up there and give them a spiel. We may take
Givens along to add weight."
"You don't mean intellectual weight, do you?"
"Will you never stop kidding?"
Mr. Arthur Snobbcraft, President of the Anglo-Saxon Association, an F.
F. V. and a man suspiciously swarthy for an Anglo-Saxon, had devoted
his entire life to fighting for two things: white racial integrity and Anglo-
Saxon supremacy. It had been very largely a losing fight. The farther he
got from his goal, the more desperate he became. He had been the genius
that thought up the numerous racial integrity laws adopted in Virginia
and many of the other Southern states. He was strong for sterilization of
the unfit: meaning Negroes, aliens, Jews and other riff raff, and he had
an abiding hatred of democracy.
Snobbcraft's pet scheme now was to get a genealogical law passed
disfranchising all people of Negro or unknown ancestry. He argued that
good citizens could not be made out of such material. His organization
had money but it needed popularity—numbers.
His joy then knew no bounds when he received Matthew's
communication. While he had no love for the Knights of Nordica which,
he held, contained just the sort of people he wanted to legislate into
impotency, social, economic and physical, he believed he could use them
to gain his point. He wired Matthew at once, saying the Association
would be delighted to have him address them, as well as the Imperial
Grand Wizard.
The Grand Exalted Giraw had long known of Snobbcraft's obsession, the
genealogical law. He also knew that there was no chance of ever getting
such a law adopted but in order to even try to pass such a law it would be
necessary to win the whole country in a national election. Together, his
organization and Snobbcraft's could turn the trick; singly neither one
could do it.
In an old pre-Civil War mansion on a broad, tree-shaded boulevard, the
directors of the Anglo-Saxon Association gathered in their annual
meeting. They listened first to Rev. Givens and next to Matthew. The
matter was referred to a committee which in an hour or two reported
favorably. Most of these men had dreamed from youth of holding high
political office at the national capital as had so many eminent Virginians
but none of them was Republican, of course, and the Democrats never
won anything nationally. By swallowing their pride for a season and
joining with the riff raff of the Knights of Nordica, they saw an
opportunity, for the first time in years to get into power; and they took it.
They would furnish plenty of money, they said, if the other group would
furnish the numbers.
Givens and Matthew returned to Atlanta in high spirits.
"I tell you, Brother Fisher," croaked Givens, "our star is ascending. I can
see no way for us to fail, with God's help. We'll surely defeat our enemy.
Victory is in the air."
"It sure looks that way," the Grand Giraw agreed. "With their money and
ours, we can certainly get together a larger campaign fund than the
Republicans."
Back in Richmond Mr. Snobbcraft and his friends were in conference
with the statistician of a great New York insurance company. This man,
Dr. Samuel Buggerie, was highly respected among members of his
profession and well known by the reading public. He was the author of
several books and wrote frequently for the heavier periodicals. His well-
known work, The Fluctuation of the Sizes of Left Feet among the
Assyrians during the Ninth Century before Christ had been favorably
commented upon by several reviewers, one of whom had actually read it.
An even more learned work of his was entitled Putting Wasted Energy to
Work, in which he called attention, by elaborate charts and graphs, to the
possibilities of harnessing the power generated by the leaves of trees
rubbing together on windy days. In several brilliant monographs he had
proved that rich people have smaller families than the poor; that
imprisonment does not stop crime; that laborers usually migrate in the
wake of high wages. His most recent article in a very intellectual
magazine read largely by those who loafed for a living, he had proved
statistically that unemployment and poverty are principally a state of
mind. This contribution was enthusiastically hailed by scholars and
especially by business men as an outstanding contribution to
contemporary thought.
Dr. Buggerie was a ponderous, nervous, entirely bald, specimen of
humanity, with thick moist hands, a receding double chin and very
prominent eyes that were constantly shifting about and bearing an
expression of seemingly perpetual wonderment behind their big horn-
rimmed spectacles. He seemed about to burst out of his clothes and his
pockets were always bulging with papers and notes.
Dr. Buggerie, like Mr. Snobbcraft, was a professional Anglo-Saxon as
well as a descendant of one of the First Families of Virginia. He held that
the only way to tell the pure whites from the imitation whites, was to
study their family trees. He claimed that such a nationwide investigation
would disclose the various non-Nordic strains in the population. Laws,
said he, should then be passed forbidding these strains from mixing or
marrying with the pure strains that had produced such fine specimens of
mankind as Mr. Snobbcraft and himself.
In high falsetto voice he eagerly related to the directors of the Anglo-
Saxon Association the results of some of his preliminary researches.
These tended to show, he claimed, that there must be as many as twenty
million people in the United States who possessed some slight non-
Nordic strain and were thus unfit for both citizenship and procreation. If
the organization would put up the money for the research on a national
scale, he declared that he could produce statistics before election that
would be so shocking that the Republicans would lose the country unless
they adopted the Democratic plank on genealogical examinations. After
a long and eloquent talk by Mr. Snobbcraft in support of Dr. Buggerie's
proposition, the directors voted to appropriate the money, on condition
that the work be kept as secret as possible. The statistician agreed
although it hurt him to the heart to forego any publicity. The very next
morning he began quietly to assemble his staff.

CHAPTER TEN
Hank Johnson, Chuck Foster, Dr. Crookman and Gorman Gay, National
Chairman of the Republican National Committee, sat in the physician's
hotel suite conversing in low tones.
"We're having a tough time getting ready for the Fall campaign," said
Gay. "Unfortunately our friends are not contributing with their
accustomed liberality."
"Can't complain about us, can you?" asked Foster.
"No, no," the politician denied quickly. "You have been most liberal in
the past two years, but then we have done many favors for you, too."
"Yuh sho right, Gay," Hank remarked. "Dem crackahs mighta put us outa
business efen it hadn' bin fo' th' admin'strations suppo't."
"I'm quite sure we deeply appreciate the many favors we've received
from the present administration," added Dr. Crookman.
"We won't need it much longer, though," said Chuck Foster.
"How's that?" asked Gay, opening his half-closed eyes.
"Well, we've done about all the business we can do in this country.
Practically all of the Negroes are white except a couple of thousand
diehards and those in institutions," Chuck informed him.
"Dat's right," said Hank. "An' it sho makes dis heah country lonesome.
Ah ain't seen a brown-skin ooman in so long Ah doan know whut Ah'd
do if Ah seen one."
"That's right, Gay," added Dr. Crookman. "We've about cleaned up the
Negro problem in this country. Next week we're closing all except five of
our sanitariums."
"Well, what about your Lying-In hospitals?" asked Gay.
"Of course we'll have to continue operating them," Crookman replied.
"The women would be in an awful fix if we didn't."
"Now look here," proposed Gay, drawing closer to them and lowering his
voice. "This coming campaign is going to be one of the bitterest in the
history of this country. I fear there will be rioting, shooting and killing.
Those hospitals cannot be closed without tremendous mental suffering to
the womanhood of the country. We want to avoid that and you want to
avoid it, too. Yet, these hospitals will constantly be in danger. It ought to
be worth something to you to have them especially protected by the
forces of the government."
"You would do that anyway, wouldn't you Gay?" asked Crookman.
"Well, it's going to cost us millions of votes to do it, and the members of
the National Executive Committee seem to feel that you ought to make a
very liberal donation to the campaign fund to make up for the votes we'll
lose."
"What would you call a liberal donation?" Crookman inquired.
"A successful campaign cannot be fought this year," Gay replied, "under
twenty millions."
"Man," shouted Hank, "yuh ain't talkin' 'bout dollahs, is yuh?"
"You got it right, Hank," answered the National Chairman. "It'll cost that
much and maybe more."
"Where do you expect to get all of that money?" queried Foster.
"That's just what's worrying us," Gay replied, "and that's why I'm here.
You fellows are rolling in wealth and we need your help. In the past two
years you've collected around ninety million dollars from the Negro
public. Why not give us a good break? You won't miss five million, and
it ought to be worth it to you fellows to defeat the Democrats."
"Five millions! Great Day," Hank exploded. "Man, is you los' yo' min'?"
"Not at all," Gay denied. "Might as well own up that if we don't get a
contribution of about that size from you we're liable to lose this
election.... Come on, fellows, don't be so tight. Of course, you're setting
pretty and all you've got to do is change your residence to Europe or
some other place if things don't run smoothly in America, but you want
to think of those poor women with their black babies. What will they do
if you fellows leave the country or if the Democrats win and you have to
close all of your places?"
"That's right, Chief," Foster observed. "You can't let the women down."
"Yeah," said Johnson. "Give 'im th' jack."
"Well, suppose we do?" concluded Crookman, smiling.
The National Chairman was delighted. "When can we collect?" he asked,
"and how?"
"Tomorrow, if yuh really wants it then," Johnson observed.
"Now remember," warned Gay. "We cannot afford to let it be known that
we are getting such a large sum from any one person or corporation."
"That's your lookout," said the physician, indifferently. "You know we
won't say anything."
Mr. Gay, shortly afterward, departed to carry the happy news to the
National Executive Committee, then in session right there in New York
City.
The Republicans certainly needed plenty of money to re-elect President
Goosie. The frequent radio addresses of Rev. Givens, the growing
numbers of the Knights of Nordica, the inexplicable affluence of the
Democratic Party and the vitriolic articles in The Warning, had not failed
to rouse much Democratic sentiment. People were not exactly for the
Democrats but they were against the Republicans. As early as May it did
not seem possible for the Republicans to carry a single Southern state
and many of the Northern and Eastern strongholds were in doubt. The
Democrats seemed to have everything their way. Indeed, they were so
confident of success that they were already counting the spoils.
When the Democratic Convention met in Jackson, Mississippi, on July 1,
1936, political wise-acres claimed that for the first time in history the
whole program was cut and dried and would be run off smoothly and
swiftly. Such, however, was not the case. The unusually hot sun, coupled
with the enormous quantities of liquor vended, besides the many
conflicting interests present, soon brought dissension.
Shortly after the keynote speech had been delivered by Senator Kretin,
the Anglo-Saxon crowd let it be known that they wanted some
distinguished Southerner like Arthur Snobbcraft nominated for the
Presidency. The Knights of Nordica were intent on nominating Imperial
Grand Wizard Givens. The Northern faction of the party, now reduced to
a small minority in party councils, was holding out for former Governor
Grogan of Massachusetts who as head of the League of Catholic Voters
had a great following.
Through twenty ballots the voting proceeded, and it remained
deadlocked. No faction would yield. Leaders saw that there had to be a
compromise. They retired to a suite on the top floor of the Judge Lynch
Hotel. There, in their shirt sleeves, with collars open, mint juleps on the
table and electric fans stirring up the hot air, they got down to business.
Twelve hours later they were still there.
Matthew, wilted, worn but determined, fought for his chief. Simeon
Dump of the Anglo-Saxon Association swore he would not withdraw the
name of Arthur Snobbcraft. Rev. John Whiffle, a power in the party,
gulped drink after drink, kept dabbing a damp handkerchief at the
shining surface of his skull, and held out for one Bishop Belch. Moses
Lejewski of New York argued obstinately for the nomination of
Governor Grogan.
In the meantime the delegates, having left the oven-like convention hall,
either lay panting and drinking in their rooms, sat in the hotel lobbies
discussing the deadlock or cruised the streets in automobiles confidently
seeking the dens of iniquity which they had been told were eager to lure
them into sin.
When the clock struck three, Matthew rose and suggested that since the
Knights of Nordica and the Anglo-Saxon Association were the two most
powerful organizations in the party, Givens should get the presidential
nomination, Snobbcraft the vice-presidential and the other candidates be
assured of cabinet positions. This suggested compromise appealed to no
one except Matthew.
"You people forget," said Simeon Dump, "that the Anglo-Saxon
Association is putting up half the money to finance this campaign."
"And you forget," declared Moses Lejewski, "that we're supporting your
crazy scheme to disfranchise anybody possessing Negro ancestry when
we get into office. That's going to cost us millions of votes in the North.
You fellows can't expect to hog everything."
"Why not?" challenged Dump. "How could you win without money?"
"And how," added Matthew, "can you get anywhere without the Knights
of Nordica behind you?"
"And how," Rev. Whiffle chimed in, "can you get anywhere without the
Fundamentalists and the Drys?"
At four o'clock they had got no farther than they had been at three. They
tried to pick some one not before mentioned, and went over and over the
list of eligibles. None was satisfactory. One was too radical, another was
too conservative, a third was an atheist, a fourth had once rifled a city
treasury, the fifth was of immigrant extraction once removed, a sixth had
married a Jewess, a seventh was an intellectual, an eighth had spent too
long at Hot Springs trying to cure the syphilis, a ninth was rumored to be
part Mexican and a tenth had at one time in his early youth been a
Socialist.
At five o'clock they were desperate, drunk and disgusted. The stuffy
room was a litter of discarded collars, cigarette and cigar butts, match
stems, heaped ash trays and empty bottles. Matthew drank little and kept
insisting on the selection of Rev. Givens. To the sodden and nodding
men he painted marvelous pictures of the spoils of office and their
excellent chance of getting there, and then suddenly declared that the
Knights of Nordica would withdraw unless Givens was nominated. The
threat aroused them. They cursed and called it a holdup, but Matthew
was adamant. As a last stroke, he rose and pretended to be ready to bolt
the caucus. They remonstrated with him and finally gave in to him.
Orders went out to the delegates. They assembled in the convention hall.
The shepherds of the various state flocks cracked the whip and the
delegates voted accordingly. Late that afternoon the news went out to a
waiting world that the Democrats had nominated Henry Givens for
President and Arthur Snobbcraft for Vice-President. Mr. Snobbcraft
didn't like that at all, but it was better than nothing.

A few days later the Republican convention opened in Chicago. Better

disciplined, as usual, than the Democrats, its business proceeded like
clockwork. President Goosie was nominated for reëlection on the first
ballot and Vice-President Gump was again selected as his running mate.
A platform was adopted whose chief characteristic was vagueness. As
was customary, it stressed the party's record in office, except that which
was criminal; it denounced fanaticism without being specific, and it
emphasized the rights of the individual and the trusts in the same
paragraph. As the Democratic slogan was White Supremacy and its
platform dwelt largely on the necessity of genealogical investigation, the
Republicans adopted the slogan: Personal Liberty and Ancestral Sanctity.
Dr. Crookman and his associates, listening in on the radio in his suite in
the Robin Hood Hotel in New York City, laughed softly as they heard the
President deliver his speech of acceptance which ended in the following
original manner:
"And finally, my friends, I can only say that we shall continue in the path
of rugged individualism, free from the influence of sinister interests,
upholding the finest ideals of honesty, independence and integrity, so
that, to quote Abraham Lincoln, 'This nation of the people, for the people
and by the people shall not perish from the earth.'"
"That," said Foster, as the President ceased barking, "sounds almost like
the speech of acceptance of Brother Givens that we heard the other day."
Dr. Crookman smiled and brushed the ashes off his cigar. "It may even
be the same speech," he suggested.

Through the hot days of July and August the campaign slowly got under
way. Innumerable photographs appeared in the newspapers depicting the
rival candidates among the simple folk of some village, helping
youngsters to pick cherries, assisting an old woman up a stairway,
bathing in the old swimming hole, eating at a barbecue and posing on the
rear platforms of special trains.
Long articles appeared in the Sunday newspapers extolling the simple
virtues of the two great men. Both, it seemed, had come from poor but
honest families; both were hailed as tried and true friends of the great,
common people; both were declared to be ready to give their strength
and intellect to America for the next four years. One writer suggested
that Givens resembled Lincoln, while another declared that President
Goosie's character was not unlike that of Roosevelt, believing he was
paying the former a compliment.
Rev. Givens told the reporters: "It is my intention, if elected, to carry out
the traditional tariff policy of the Democratic Party" (neither he or
anyone else knew what that was).
President Goosie averred again and again, "I intend to make my second
term as honest and efficient as my first." Though a dire threat, this
statement was supposed to be a fine promise.

Meanwhile, Dr. Samuel Buggerie and his operatives were making great
headway examining birth and marriage records throughout the United
States. Around the middle of September the Board of Directors held a
conference at which the learned man presented a partial report.
"I am now prepared to prove," gloated the obese statistician, "that fully
one-quarter of the people of one Virginia county possess non-white
ancestry, Indian or Negro; and we can further prove that all of the
Indians on the Atlantic Coast are part Negro. In several counties in
widely separated parts of the country, we have found that the ancestry of
a considerable percentage of the people is in doubt. There is reason to
believe that there are countless numbers of people who ought not to be
classed with whites and should not mix with Anglo-Saxons."
It was decided that the statistician should get his data in simple form that
anyone could read and understand, and have it ready to release just a few
days before election. When the people saw how great was the danger
from black blood, it was reasoned, they would flock to the Democratic
standard and it would be too late for the Republicans to halt the
stampede.

No political campaign in the history of the country had ever been so

bitter. On one side were those who were fanatically positive of their pure
Caucasian ancestry; on the other side were those who knew themselves
to be "impure" white or had reason to suspect it. The former were
principally Democratic, the latter Republican. There was another group
which was Republican because it felt that a victory for the Democrats
might cause another Civil War. The campaign roused acrimonious
dispute even within families. Often behind these family rifts lurked the
knowledge or suspicion of a dark past.
As the campaign grew more bitter, denunciations of Dr. Crookman and
his activities grew more violent. A move was started to close all of his
hospitals. Some wanted them to be closed for all time; others advised
their closing for the duration of the campaign. The majority of thinking
people (which wasn't so many) strenuously objected to the proposal.
"No good purpose will be served by closing these hospitals," declared
the New York Morning Earth. "On the contrary such a step might have
tragic results. The Negroes have disappeared into the body of our
citizenry, large numbers have intermarried with the whites and the
offspring of these marriages are appearing in increasing numbers.
Without these hospitals, think how many couples would be estranged;
how many homes wrecked! Instead of taking precipitate action, we
should be patient and move slowly."
Other Northern newspapers assumed an even more friendly attitude, but
the press generally followed the crowd, or led it, and in slightly veiled
language urged the opponents of Black-No-More to take the law into
their hands.
Finally, emboldened and inflamed by fiery editorials, radio addresses,
pamphlets, posters and platform speeches, a mob seeking to protect
white womanhood in Cincinnati attacked a Crookman hospital, drove
several women into the streets and set fire to the building. A dozen
babies were burned to death and others, hastily removed by their
mothers, were recognized as mulattoes. The newspapers published
names and addresses. Many of the women were very prominent socially
either in their own right or because of their husbands.
The nation was shocked as never before. Republican sentiment began to
dwindle. The Republican Executive Committee met and discussed ways
and means of combating the trend. Gorman Gay was at his wits' end.
Nothing, he thought, could save them except a miracle.
Two flights below in a spacious office sat two of the Republican
campaigners, Walter Williams and Joseph Bonds, busily engaged in
leading the other workers (who knew better) to believe that they were
earning the ten dollars a day they were receiving. The former had passed
for a Negro for years on the strength of a part-Negro grandparent and
then gone back to the white race when the National Social Equality
League was forced to cease operations at the insistence of both the
sheriff and the landlord. Joseph Bonds, former head of the Negro Data
League who had once been a Negro but thanks to Dr. Crookman was
now Caucasian and proud of it, had but recently returned to the North
from Atlanta, accompanied by Santop Licorice. Both Mr. Williams and
Mr. Bonds had been unable to stomach the Democratic crowd and so had
fallen in with the Republicans, who were as different from them as one
billiard ball from another. The two gentlemen were in low tones
discussing the dilemma of the Republicans, while rustling papers to
appear busy.
"Jo, if we could figure out something to turn the tables on these
Democrats, we wouldn't have to work for the rest of our lives," Williams
observed, blowing a cloud of cigarette smoke out of the other corner of
his mouth.
"Yes, that's right, Walt, but there ain't a chance in the world. Old Gay is
almost crazy, you know. Came in here slamming doors and snapping at
everybody this morning," Bonds remarked.
Williams leaned closer to him, lowered his flame-thatched head and then
looking to the right and left whispered, "Listen here, do you know where
Beard is?"
"No," answered Bonds, starting and looking around to see if anyone was
listening. "Where is he?"
"Well, I got a letter from him the other day. He's down there in
Richmond doing research work for the Anglo-Saxon Association under
that Dr. Buggerie."
"Do they know who he is?"
"Of course they don't. He's been white quite a while now, you know, and
of course they'd never connect him with the Dr. Shakespeare A. Beard
who used to be one of their most outspoken enemies."
"Well, what about it?" persisted Bonds, eagerly. "Do you think he might
know something on the Democrats that might help?"
"He might. We could try him out anyway. If he knows anything he'll spill
it because he hates that crowd."
"How will you get in touch with him quickly? Write to him?"
"Certainly not," growled Williams. "I'll get expenses from Gay for the
trip. He'll fall for anything now."
He rose and made for the elevator. Five minutes later he was standing
before his boss, the National Chairman, a worried, gray little man with
an aldermanic paunch and a convict's mouth.
"What is it, Williams?" snapped the Chairman.
"I'd like to get expenses to Richmond," said Williams. "I have a friend
down there in Snobbcraft's office and he might have some dope we can
use to our advantage."
"Scandal?" asked Mr. Gay, brightening.
"Well, I don't know right now, of course, but this fellow is a very shrewd
observer and in six months' time he ought to have grabbed something
that'll help us out of this jam."
"Is he a Republican or a Democrat?"
"Neither. He's a highly trained and competent social student. You
couldn't expect him to be either," Williams observed. "But I happen to
know that he hasn't got any money to speak of, so for a consideration I'm
sure he'll spill everything he knows, if anything."
"Well, its a gamble," said Gay, doubtfully, "but any port in a storm."
Williams left Washington immediately for Richmond. That night he sat
in a cramped little room of the former champion of the darker races.
"What are you doing down there, Beard?" asked Williams, referring to
the headquarters of the Anglo-Saxon Association.
"Oh, I'm getting, or helping to get, that data of Buggerie's into shape."
"What data? You told me you were doing research work. Now you say
you're arranging data. Have they finished collecting it?"
"Yes, we finished that job some time ago. Now we're trying to get the
material in shape for easy digestion."
"What do you mean: easy digestion?" queried Williams. "What are you
fellows trying to find out and why must it be so easily digested. You
fellows usually try to make your stuff unintelligible to the herd."
"This is different," said Beard, lowering his voice to almost a whisper.
"We're under a pledge of secrecy. We have been investigating the family
trees of the nation and so far, believe me, we certainly have uncovered
astounding facts. When I'm finally discharged, which will probably be
after election, I'm going to peddle some of that information. Snobbcraft
and even Buggerie are not aware of the inflammatory character of the
facts we've assembled." He narrowed his foxy eyes greedily.
"Is it because they've been planning to release some of it that they want it
in easily digestible form, as you say?" pressed Williams.
"That's it exactly," declared Beard, stroking his now clean-shaven face.
"I overheard Buggerie and Snobbcraft chuckling about it only a day or
two ago."
"Well, there must be a whole lot of it," insinuated Williams, "if they've
had all of you fellows working for six months. Where all did you work?"
"Oh, all over. North as well as South. We've got a whole basement vault
full of index cards."
"I guess they're keeping close watch over it, aren't they?" asked
Williams.
"Sure. It would take an army to get in that vault."
"Well, I guess they don't want anything to happen to the stuff before they
spring it," observed the man from Republican headquarters.
Soon afterward Williams left Dr. Beard, took a stroll around the Anglo-
Saxon Association's stately headquarters building, noted the half-dozen
tough looking guards about it and then caught the last train for the capital
city. The next morning he had a long talk with Gorman Gay.
"It's okeh, Jo," he whispered to Bonds, later, as he passed his desk.

CHAPTER ELEVEN
"What's the matter with you, Matt?" asked Bunny one morning about a
month before election. "Ain't everything going okeh? You look as if we'd
lost the election and failed to elect that brilliant intellectual, Henry
Givens, President of the United States."
"Well, we might just as well lose it as far as I'm concerned," said
Matthew, "if I don't find a way out of this jam I'm in."
"What jam?"
"Well, Helen got in the family way last winter again. I sent her to Palm
Beach and the other resorts, thinking the travel and exercise might bring
on another miscarriage."
"Did it?"
"Not a chance in the world. Then, to make matters worse, she
miscalculates. At first she thought she would be confined in December;
now she tells me she's only got about three weeks to go."
"Say not so!"
"I'm preaching gospel."
"Well, hush my mouth! Waddya gonna do? You can't send her to one o'
Crookman's hospitals, it would be too dangerous right now."
"That's just it. You see, I figured she wouldn't be ready until about a
month after election when everything had calmed down, and I could send
her then."
"Would she have gone?"
"She couldn't afford not to with her old man the President of the United
States."
"Well, whaddya gonna do, Big Boy? Think fast! Think fast! Them three
weeks will get away from here in no time."
"Don't I know it?"
"What about an abortion?" suggested Bunny, hopefully.
"Nothing doing. First place, she's too frail, and second place she's got
some fool idea about that being a sin."
"About the only thing for you to do, then," said Bunny, "is to get ready to
pull out when that kid is born."
"Oh, Bunny, I'd hate to leave Helen. She's really the only woman I ever
loved, you know. Course she's got her prejudices and queer notions like
everybody else but she's really a little queen. She's been an inspiration to
me, too, Bunny. Every time I talk about pulling out of this game when
things don't go just right, she makes me stick it out. I guess I'd have been
gone after I cleaned up that first million if it hadn't been for her."
"You'd have been better off if you had," Bunny commented.
"Oh, I don't know. She's hot for me to become Secretary of State or
Ambassador to England or something like that; and the way things are
going it looks like I will be. That is, if I can get out of this fix."
"If you can get out o' this jam, Matt, I'll sure take my hat off to you. An' I
know how you feel about scuttling out and leaving her. I had a broad like
that once in Harlem. 'Twas through her I got that job in th' bank. She was
crazy about me, Boy, until she caught me two-timin'. Then she tried to
shoot me.
"Squaws are funny that way," Bunny continued, philosophically. "Since
I've been white I've found out they're all the same, white or black.
Kipling was right. They'll fight to get you, fight to keep you and fight
you when they catch you playin' around. But th' kinda woman that won't
fight for a man ain't worth havin'."
"So you think I ought to pull out, eh Bunny?" asked the worried
Matthew, returning to the subject.
"Well, what I'd suggest is this:" his plump friend advised, "about time
you think Helen's gonna be confined, get together as much cash as you
can and keep your plane ready. Then, when the baby's born, go to her,
tell her everything an' offer to take her away with you. If she won't go,
you beat it; if she will, why everything's hotsy totsy." Bunny extended
his soft pink hands expressively.
"Well, that sounds pretty good, Bunny."
"It's your best bet, Big Boy," said his friend and secretary.

Two days before election the situation was unchanged. There was joy in
the Democratic camp, gloom among the Republicans. For the first time
in American history it seemed that money was not going to decide an
election. The propagandists and publicity men of the Democrats had so
played upon the fears and prejudices of the public that even the bulk of
Jews and Catholics were wavering and many had been won over to the
support of a candidate who had denounced them but a few months
before. In this they were but running true to form, however, as they had
usually been on the side of white supremacy in the old days when there
was a Negro population observable to the eye. The Republicans sought
to dig up some scandal against Givens and Snobbcraft but were
dissuaded by their Committee on Strategy which feared to set so
dangerous a precedent. There were also politicians in their ranks who
were guilty of adulteries, drunkenness and grafting.
The Republicans, Goosie and Gump, and the Democrats, Givens and
Snobbcraft, had ended their swings around the country and were resting
from their labors. There were parades in every city and country town.
Minor orators beat the lectern from the Atlantic to the Pacific extolling
the imaginary virtues of the candidates of the party that hired them. Dr.
Crookman was burned a hundred times in effigy. Several Lying-In
hospitals were attacked. Two hundred citizens who knew nothing about
either candidate were arrested for fighting over which was the better
man.
The air was electric with expectancy. People stood around in knots.
Small boys scattered leaflets on ten million doorsteps. Police were on the
alert to suppress disorder, except what they created.
Arthur Snobbcraft, jovial and confident that he would soon assume a
position befitting a member of one of the First Families of Virginia, was
holding a brilliant pre-election party in his palatial residence. Strolling in
and out amongst his guests, the master of the house accepted their
premature congratulations in good humor. It was fine to hear oneself
already addressed as Mr. Vice-President.
The tall English butler hastily edged his way through the throng
surrounding the President of the Anglo-Saxon Association and
whispered, "Dr. Buggerie is in the study upstairs. He says he must see
you at once; that it is very, very important."
Puzzled, Snobbcraft went up to find out what in the world could be the
trouble. As he entered, the massive statistician was striding back and
forth, mopping his brow, his eyes starting from his head, a sheaf of
typewritten sheets trembling in his hand.
"What's wrong, Buggerie?" asked Snobbcraft, perturbed.
"Everything! Everything!" shrilled the statistician.
"Be specific, please."
"Well," shaking the sheaf of papers in Snobbcraft's face, "we can't
release any of this stuff! It's too damaging! It's too inclusive! We'll have
to suppress it, Snobbcraft. You hear me? We musn't let anyone get hold
of it." The big man's flabby jowls worked excitedly.
"What do you mean?" snarled the F. F. V. "Do you mean to tell me that
all of that money and work is wasted?"
"That's exactly what I mean," squeaked Buggerie. "It would be suicidal
to publish it."
"Why? Get down to brass tacks, man, for God's sake. You get my goat."
"Now listen here, Snobbcraft," replied the statistician soberly, dropping
heavily into a chair. "Sit down and listen to me. I started this
investigation on the theory that the data gathered would prove that
around twenty million people, mostly of the lower classes were of Negro
ancestry, recent and remote, while about half that number would be of
uncertain or unknown ancestry."
"Well, what have you found?" insisted Snobbcraft, impatiently.
"I have found," continued Buggerie, "that over half the population has no
record of its ancestry beyond five generations!"
"That's fine!" chortled Snobbcraft. "I've always maintained that there
were only a few people of good blood in this country."
"But those figures include all classes," protested the larger man. "Your
class as well as the lower classes."
"Don't insult me, Buggerie!" shouted the head of the Anglo-Saxons, half
rising from his seat on the sofa.
"Be calm! Be calm!" cried Buggerie excitedly, "You haven't heard
anything yet."
"What else, in the name of God, could be a worse libel on the aristocracy
of this state?" Snobbcraft mopped his dark and haughty countenance.
"Well, these statistics we've gathered prove that most of our social
leaders, especially of Anglo-Saxon lineage, are descendants of colonial
stock that came here in bondage. They associated with slaves, in many
cases worked and slept with them. They intermixed with the blacks and
the women were sexually exploited by their masters. Then, even more
than today, the illegitimate birth rate was very high in America."
Snobbcraft's face was working with suppressed rage. He started to rise
but reconsidered. "Go on," he commanded.
"There was so much of this mixing between whites and blacks of the
various classes that very early the colonies took steps to put a halt to it.
They managed to prevent intermarriage but they couldn't stop
intermixture. You know the old records don't lie. They're right there for
everybody to see....
"A certain percentage of these Negroes," continued Buggerie, quite at
ease now and seemingly enjoying his dissertation, "in time lightened
sufficiently to be able to pass for white. They then merged with the
general population. Assuming that there were one thousand such cases
fifteen generations ago—and we have proof that there were more—their
descendants now number close to fifty million souls. Now I maintain that
we dare not risk publishing this information. Too many of our very first
families are touched right here in Richmond!"
"Buggerie!" gasped the F. F. V., "Are you mad?"
"Quite sane, sir," squeaked the ponderous man, somewhat proudly, "and
I know what I know." He winked a watery eye.
"Well, go on. Is there any more?"