It was lunch time; there was no place within a mile
where she was allowed to eat. The revolt deepened within her. Beyond
these known and definite discriminations lay the unknown and hovering.
In yonder store nothing hindered the clerk from being exceptionally
pert; on yonder street-car the conductor might reserve his politeness
for white folk; this policeman's business was to keep black and brown
people in their places. All this Caroline Wynn thought of, and then
smiled.
This was the thing poor blind Bles was trying to attack by "appeals" for
"justice." Nonsense! Does one "appeal" to the red-eyed beast that
throttles him? No. He composes himself, looks death in the eye, and
speaks softly, on the chance. Whereupon Miss Wynn composed herself,
waved gayly at a passing acquaintance, and matched some ribbons in a
department store. The clerk was new and anxious to sell.
Meantime her brain was busy. She had a hard task before her. Alwyn's
absurd conscience and Quixotic ideas were difficult to cope with. After
his last indiscreet talk she had ventured deftly to remonstrate, and she
well remembered the conversation.
"Wasn't what I said true?" he had asked.
"Perfectly. Is that an excuse for saying it?"
"The facts ought to be known."
"Yes, but ought you to tell them?"
"If not I, who?"
"Some one who is less useful elsewhere, and whom I like less.
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