When Gussie recovered from his dull bewilderment and found himself out on the street, alone in the mud and darkness; he tried to collect his wits and see if he could explain what everything was about. He remembered his long walk in the storm down to the old man Hooblitz’s place at the edge of the woods; recalling more vividly than anything else, the unfriendly greeting of the old man, his cross ugly humor, and the mean way that old Hooblitz hurried him out into the driving rain.
He also had a faint remembrance of a welcome drink with Chicken-Volsin, somewhere along the road. But it was somewhat hazy. Not near as clear as the recollection of himself hurrying on through the rain to see about winning the quilt at Carmelite’s raffle, so he could take it home to Aunt Fisky and make the old lady feel pleased.
Then he remembered Carmelite’s kitchen, and the nice warm fire in the stove; and how good he felt when his clothes began to get dry; and the good cup of hot coffee Carmelite gave him just before he fell asleep. But after that, he could recall nothing more until the time he woke up and found Carmelite shaking him and calling him names, and talking so loud that Pinkey and Soongy came out and pitched into him, before he could get his right presence of mind and keep them from over-coming him, the same as if he was chillun.
Why they carried him out-doors and dumped him in the street, he couldn’t understand to save his soul. Carmelite must have some grudge against him, and was mad because he came to the raffle. She didn’t want him to win the quilt; and that’s the way she fixed it up to git rid of him. But didn’t he have as much right to be there as anybody else? Wasn’t his dime just as good as anybody else’s money?... But maybe it was a good thing. He had no business going. It served him right,—running with niggers all the time and expecting them to treat him like their own kind.... But old man Hooblitz was white. Look how he treated him?... What difference did it make after all? White or colored,—nobody gave a damn for him. All Gritny knew who Gussie Fisky was; but that didn’t make them act no kinder, and try to show him how to better his poor condition....
Suddenly realizing that his troubled meditation was growing into a feeling of stupid self-pity and morbid resentment, he looked up nervously at the few faint glimmering stars in the murky sky, wondering where he would go to rid himself of his unhappy mood and forget his utter loneliness.
Remembering Tempe’s wake, he started off down the quiet street to the New Hope church. He went stumbling along aimlessly over the muddy street-crossings and puddles of water on the low uneven banquettes, not caring whether the road was wet or dry, or how splashed and bedraggled his clothes became.
When he reached the church corner he was greeted by the blinking lights from the church windows and the wistful singing of the members inside; and the thought of human contact, however casual or momentary it might be, caused him to smile and hurry on; knowing how glad he would be to hear the sound of some friendly voice and feel the warm touch of a sympathetic hand.
As he started up the rickety steps of the church, he stopped half way to listen to the wave of melancholy song that came flowing out into the darkness. It made him shiver with a strange feeling of sadness as he caught a few words of the mournful wail and thought of their portentous meaning....