"I am a teacher in the M Street High School," she said, "and we have some intelligent boys there who work their way through."
"Yes," said the Senator.
"Some," continued Miss Wynn, tapping her boot on the carpet, "some--wait on table."
The Senator slowly put the paper in his pocket.
"And now," he said, "Miss Wynn, what can I do for you?"
She looked at him.
"If Judge Haynes is reappointed to the school-board I shall probably continue to teach in the M Street High School," she said slowly.
The Senator made a memorandum and said: "I shall not forget Miss Wynn--nor her friends." And he bowed, glancing at Alwyn.
The woman contemplated Bles in momentary perplexity, then bowing in turn, left. Bles followed, debating just what he ought to say, how far he might venture to accompany her, what--but she easily settled it all.
"I thank you--good-bye," she said briefly at the door, and was gone. Bles did not know whether to feel relieved or provoked, or disappointed, and by way of compromise felt something of all three.
The next morning he received notice of his appointment to a clerkship in the Treasury Department, at a salary of nine hundred dollars. The sum seemed fabulous and he was in the seventh heaven. For many days the consciousness of wealth, the new duties, the street scenes, and the city life kept him more than busy. 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--although he would not acknowledge it--he 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--strangers 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.