He saw it—at least a large part of it.
He strolled another block, and the same sight met his eye; but, as he got further away from the station, the lights grew dimmer; the women fewer, but plenty, at any rate.
Now he had reached a place where the crowds had not penetrated—only stragglers lingered like himself—and where the women were of another race, for now they were colored.
"Hello, Brown Skin," they greeted him, and he smiled back, but didn't stop—not even to hear the secret that almost everyone had to tell him.
"You are sure some brown, kid. Just come here a moment. Don't be afraid, I won't eat you."
"Indeed," he said to one who was very small, and could smile with more effect than the others. "But I'm afraid." And he laughed aloud as he went upon his way.
He had stopped now. He had to; for, before him was a brick wall—no, a brick fence. It was painted white and was about eight or ten feet high; while inside raised something sinister. "Gee!" he exclaimed. "But that is a sight one does not appreciate."
He turned now, and passed down a side street, which was occupied by the same. But he couldn't forget what stood grim and determined on the other side. It had been there a long time too—before, oh, long before these women had. Yes, and it would be there long after they had passed away, and others, not yet born, had come to take their places. And as he passed down the street, under the subtlety of those night smiles, that place seemed to say—kept on saying:
"Play on she cats! Oh, play on! Hell's got your soul; but I'll have the rest by and by." He turned the next corner and walked another block, and lo! There stood another! "Kick high little girl; sin as you please; Hell's got your hearts, but I'll have what's left—I won't say how soon...."
"The devil!" he exclaimed. "This is the worst place for cemeteries I ever knew. I'm going away from here, to my room." And he went.