"Yes," he said, "and mind you don't tell anybody, either. You'll have to sneak off bounds—but I'll see you don't run much of a risk. You can leave that part to me."
Then, when he saw me hesitate, he began to plead. "Oh, say, you won't go back on me, will you? I've been a good friend to you and done you lots of favors—and now when I ask you to take a little risk for me...."
I smiled. "You don't understand, Sydney," I said. "It isn't the risk."
"Then what is it?"
"It's—it's the girl."
He stepped back from me, and his face took on a coldness I had never seen before. "Don't worry about that," he exclaimed. "That's my business."
Then, as I hesitated, he burst out: "Hurry up, now, you little Jew!"
I stood very still for a minute. Then I felt my face flush hot and I flung away from him.
It had come at last. He, my best friend—my only friend—he had called me a Jew!
I wanted to scream back at him, to beat him with my fist, to denounce him and curse him. I felt betrayed, degraded as I had never been before. Then I gulped hard and controlled myself.