I, too, must now find Fountain Square. A switchman kindly pointed out the direction. As I walked up the street, I raised my eyes to see if the day was breaking, but I might have known better. Automobiles and hacks containing only men came down the street and stopped before the large, red-curtained houses, and from the sound of revelry, of jest, laughter and music, I realized that I was in the redlight district. A black slave standing in a dimly lighted entrance to a passage between two houses, said, “Hello, Honey, buy me a drink.”
“Why, girl, I could not buy a postage stamp that was canceled.”
“Why, what’s the matter?”
“I’m broke. I haven’t even a place to sleep tonight.”
“Come here.”
I stepped up a little nearer to her.
“Is yo’ sho’ nuff broke?”
“I most assuredly am.”
“Whah yo’ from?”
“From Cleveland.”