His father was not there. As if to emphasize the occasion, his mother deserted her washtub, served his breakfast herself, stood about in helpless attitudes.
"George," she whispered, toward the close of the desolate meal, "try to get a job near here. Of course you could never come home, but we could go to see you."
"Father," he said, "is kicking me out as much as Old Planter is, and you back him up."
She clasped her hands.
"I've got to. And you can't blame your father. He has to look after himself and me."
"It makes no difference. I'm not going to take a job near by," he said.
"Where are you going?" she asked, sharply.
He stared at her for a moment, profoundly sorry for her and for himself.
"I'm going to get away from everything that would remind me I've ever been treated like something less than human."
She gave a little cry.