"What!" exclaimed Bles aloud. "You don't mean that any one can advise a
black man to vote the Democratic ticket?"
An elderly man turned to them.
"Thank you, sir," he said; "that is just my attitude; I fought for my
freedom. I know what slavery is; may I forget God when I vote for
traitors and slave-holders."
The discussion waxed warm and Miss Wynn turned away and sought Miss
Jones.
"Come, my dear," she said, "it's 'The Problem' again." They sauntered
away toward a ring of laughter.
The discussion thus begun at Miss Wynn's did not end there. It was on
the eve of the great party conventions, and the next night Sam Stillings
came around to get some crumbs from this assembly of the inner circle,
into which Alwyn had been so unaccountably snatched, and outside of
which, despite his endeavors, Stillings lingered and seemed destined to
linger. But Stillings was a patient, resolute man beneath his
deferential exterior, and he saw in Bles a stepping stone. So he began
to drop in at his lodgings and tonight invited him to the Bethel
Literary.
"What's that?" asked Bles.
"A debating club--oldest in the city; the best people all attend."
Bles hesitated. He had half made up his mind that this was the proper
time to call on Miss Wynn. He told Stillings so, and told him also of
the evening and the discussion.
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