say only makes it the more dangerous for you to be talking that way—you’d make most of these white people mad because you have done some thinking about the situation.”
Jean interrupted him with a gesture of impatience.
“ Mr. Stewart, have you ever tried to look at this thing from our side of the fence?”
“No‑o‑o. I haven’t given much time to it, I reckon,” Mr. Stewart answered reflectively, his face indicating a degree of surprise that there was another side which had not occurred to him.
“Well, just let me tell you a little about it then. The son of a friend of mine, a lad of twenty or thereabouts, yesterday morning was coming out of his own father’s home, rather hurriedly as he was late for an appointment. Reaching the street, he remembered he had forgotten a package and he turned to go back when he brushed against someone behind him. As he started to apologize he saw it was a white woman. This woman was telling my wife about it and she