“It’s Sunday,” he said one afternoon as they sat in the lobby of Robert’s hotel. “Well, perhaps I don’t blame you much for not wanting to visit some of the black and tan dance halls. I realize how you Southerners must feel about it. But you haven’t anything to do today anyway, and you must see the district. You can’t imagine what it’s like until you see it for yourself.”
“I’ll go,” Robert consented reluctantly, “but it rather goes against me to see a nigger walking with a white woman, and—”
“Well, after we get public opinion organized you won’t see a white girl walking with a coon!”
It was hot and sultry. It would have been hot even for Corinth and one noticed waves of air rising from the pavement. They rode to Twenty-Second street by elevated.
“There it starts,” said Freeman, pointing through the window as they drew near the station. “See all those dirty, brick tenements? And a few years ago there were only a few thousand in the whole city. What’s going on there? It looks like a mob.”
They reached the street and found it deserted save for dusky heads in the windows.
“Every one must have gone over there,” said Freeman. “Let’s see what’s doing. They look excited.”
“I’m not interested in any nigger meetings,” replied Robert. “There’s the lake. It’s hot as the deuce. Let’s walk down there.”
They had walked perhaps a block and a half east when Freeman suddenly turned. Robert had also heard the sound.
“Gee, they’re coming!”