“Oh, you speak English, don’t you?”
“You an ’merican woman?”
“Used to be ’fore I went on the stage and got stranded over here.”
“Well, get away from here. I don’t like your kind!”
“Aw, Buddy, don’t say that. I ain’t prejudiced like some fool women.”
“You don’t know who I am, do you? I’m Paul Watson and I hate American white folks, see?”
He pushed her aside and went on walking alone. He hadn’t gone far when she caught up to him and said with sobs in her voice:—
“Oh, Lordy, please don’t hate me ’cause I was born white and an American. I ain’t got a sou to my name and all the men pass me by cause I ain’t spruced up. Now you come along and won’t look at me cause I’m white.”
Paul strode along with her clinging to his arm. He tried to shake her off several times but there was no use. She clung all the more desperately to him. He looked down at her frail body shaken with sobs, and something caught at his heart. Before he knew what he was doing he had said:—
“Naw, I ain’t that mean. I’ll get you some grub. Quit your cryin’. Don’t like seein’ women folks cry.”