He planned to study, and arranged with a professor at Howard University to guide him. He bought an armful of books and a desk, and plunged desperately to work.
Gradually as he became used to the office routine, and in the hours when he was weary of study, he began to find time hanging a little heavily on his hands; indeed‚ÅÝ‚Äîalthough he would not acknowledge it‚ÅÝ‚Äîhe was getting lonesome, homesick, amid the myriad men of a busy city.
He argued to himself that this was absurd, and yet he knew that he was longing for human companionship. When he looked about him for fellowship he found himself in a strange dilemma:
- those black folk in whom he recognized the old sweet-tempered Negro traits, had also looser, uglier manners than he was accustomed to, from which he shrank.
- The upper classes of Negroes, on the other hand, he still observed from afar; they were strangers not only in acquaintance but because of a curious coldness and aloofness that made them cease to seem his own kind; they seemed almost at times like black white people‚ÅÝ‚Äîstrangers in way and thought.
He tried to shake off this feeling but it clung, and at last in sheer desperation, he promised to go out of a night with a fellow clerk who rather boasted of the “people” he knew.
He was soon tired of the strange company, and had turned to go home, when he met a newcomer in the doorway.
“Why, hello, Sam! Sam Stillings!” he exclaimed delightedly, and was soon grasping the hand of a slim, well-dressed man of perhaps thirty, with yellow face, curling hair, and shifting eyes.
‚ÄúWell, of all things, Bles‚ÅÝ‚Äîer‚ÅÝ‚Äîah‚ÅÝ‚Äî Mr. ¬ÝAlwyn! Thought you were hoeing cotton.‚Äù