road, between the high wall and the huge trees.
“Here’s our car!” said the Judge, beginning to scramble excitedly with his stick.
“You go the other way,” flung the baby-faced, faded woman in the three-cornered satin hat, also beginning to fluster as if she were going to swim off the pavement.
The couple clambered avidly into the brightly-lighted car, first class; hobbling up. The natives crowded into the second class.
Away whizzed the tren. The Burlap couple had not even said good-night! They were terrified lest they might have to know somebody whom they might not want to know; whom it might not pay to know.
“You commonplace little woman!” said Kate aloud, looking after the retreating tram-car. “You awful ill-bred little pair.”
She was a bit afraid of the natives, not quite sober, who were waiting for the car in the opposite direction. But stronger than her fear was a certain sympathy with these dark-faced silent men in their big straw hats and naïve little cotton blouses. Anyhow they had blood in their veins: they were columns of dark blood.
Whereas the other bloodless, acidulous couple from the Middle-West, with their nasty whiteness...!
She thought of the little tale the natives tell. When the Lord was making the first men, he made them of clay and put them into the oven to bake. They came out black. They’re baked too much! said the Lord. So he made another batch, and put them in. They came out white. They’re baked too little! He said. So He had a third try. These came out