"Huh," said Rev. Josiah Nerve, still grinning broadly and walking in, lifting his feet in his walk a little higher than do ordinary mortals.
"Take a seat, please."
He sat down, taking infinite pains, with all due deliberation, to arrange his coat tails so that he would not rumple them as his predecessor in the ownership of them had already evidently done overmuch. Holding his hat in his hand, he sat staring at Erma, alternately lessening his grin so as to look, and his look so as to grin, as his grin ordinarily closed his eyes nearly, and as a full look materially reduced his grin. His white teeth and red gums managed to keep in sight, however, during the fiercest of the fight between the grin and the look. Having allowed sufficient time for his amiability to become thoroughly apparent through these facial gymnastics, he began:
"Miss-Wysong,-I-have-come-to-sympathize-with-you, huh."
"Thank you, Rev. Mr. Nerve. On account of what am I to be favored with your sympathy?"
"Huh,-on-account-of-what-them-blue-vein, educated-niggers-did-to-you-yesterday."
"Let me understand you, please."
"Huh. In-that-church-out-of-which-you were-put-yesterday,-all-of-the- mulattoes, whose-skins-are-such-that-their-blue-blood shows,-have- decided-to-form-an-aristocracy. If you-are-yellow-and-don't-work-any- with-your hands,-you-are-all-right. That-is-condition number-one. If- you-are-black-and-don't-work any-with-your-hands-and-are-smarter-than-the whole-lot-of-them-blue-veiners-put-together, you-will-be-accepted-until- they-get-something on-you. That-is-condition-number-two. You were-light- enough-for-them,-but-you-worked with-your-hands. I-did-not-work-with-my hands,-but-I-was-not-smart-enough. So,-being-black,-they-put-me-out."
"Put you out?" queried Erma.
"Huh,-yes,-miss. Before-you-was-born,-I was-pastor-of-that-church. That-blue-veined crowd-dumped-me,-huh."