Full text: The little review (8 (1922), 2)

are not patrolling and have not their bludgeons, but one imme 
diately gives the other a package he has been carrying and hur 
ries across the street behind the speaker: a short burly man, pink 
faced and grim, active and strong, with the bold insolence and 
cruelty of the police. The buttons and silver shield glitter on 
the breast of his clean blue greatcoat; the forepiece and shield 
shine on his heavy cap. Without a word he takes the speaker 
from behind by arm and neck, jerks him violently backward, 
choking him, and all but throws him to the pavement. “Here! 
Here! Here!” he cries. “What are you doing?” 
Startled, the Negro tries to keep his feet and twist his head 
so as to see his assailant. But he manfully seeks to explain. 
“Where’s your permit?” asks the policeman. 
“Judge tole me Ah didn’t need to have no permit—” 
“Git to hell out of here!” 
The Negro is thrown forward almost to his knees and flung 
about. Very firmly he declares: “Ah’ve come here to speak 
the Word of the Lord like the old prophets in de Bible. Folks 
must know this. Judge he tole me—” 
At that the policeman tightens his hold with one hand, strikes 
him on the head with his fist, and hurls him to the pavement. 
The second officer, a taller man, runs in. And the big crowd 
that has gathered during the few moments of parley closes 
about to see. Again and again the little Negro is thrown down, 
struck, and dragged in the dust. He gasps out his purpose as 
he can. The dark cold street resounds with the noise of new 
comers rushing up to see; in the midst are the scuffle, the blows, 
the Negro’s voice, the dust. At length, tossing along in the 
midst of the crowd, the preacher is swept round a corner and 
pushed and pulled along past a dark little medical school, a 
cross street, and a long hospital with a dimly lighted coloured 
statue of the Virgin aloft in a front gable. Over the way are 
a shadowy park with bare trees and a waterless basin, and 
beyond this some old public buildings. The Negro’s once neat 
clothes are twisted, half pulled from him, and covered with 
dust and mud, his body is beaten, and his faith insulted; but 
in a voice grown a little hysterical, choked too by the hand of 
the policeman, he continues to declare his purpose. The 
policeman grips him from behind and rushes him along, the 

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