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?”
“Someone who is less useful elsewhere, and whom I like less.”
“Carrie,” he had been intensely earnest. “I want to do the best thing, but I’m puzzled. I wonder if I’m selling my birthright for six thousand dollars?”
“In case of doubt, do it.”
“But there’s the doubt: I may convert; I may open the eyes of the blind; I may start a crusade for Negro rights.”
“Don’t believe it; it’s useless; we’ll never get our rights in this land.”
“You