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He was pushed toward the ticket-office with the others, and
felt in his pocket for the new five-dollar bill he had hoarded.
There seemed really no time for hesitation, so he drew it
bravely out, passed it to the busy clerk, and received simply a
ticket but no change. When at last he realized that he had
paid five dollars to enter he knew not what, he stood stockstill
amazed. "Be careful," said a low voice behind him; "you
must not lynch the colored gentleman simply because he's in
your way," and a girl looked up roguishly into the eyes of
her fair-haired escort. A shade of annoyance passed over the
escort's face. "You WILL not understand us at the South," he
said half impatiently, as if continuing an argument. "With all
your professions, one never sees in the North so cordial and
intimate relations between white and black as are everyday
occurrences with us. Why, I remember my closest playfellow
in boyhood was a little Negro named after me, and surely no
two,--WELL!" The man stopped short and flushed to the roots
of his hair, for there directly beside his reserved orchestra
chairs sat the Negro he had stumbled over in the hallway. He
hesitated and grew pale with anger, called the usher and gave
him his card, with a few peremptory words, and slowly sat
down. The lady deftly changed the subject.
All this John did not see, for he sat in a half-daze minding
the scene about him; the delicate beauty of the hall, the faint
perfume, the moving myriad of men, the rich clothing and
low hum of talking seemed all a part of a world so different
from his, so strangely more beautiful than anything he had
known, that he sat in dreamland, and started when, after a
hush, rose high and clear the music of Lohengrin's swan. The
infinite beauty of the wail lingered and swept through every
muscle of his frame, and put it all a-tune. He closed his eyes
and grasped the elbows of the chair, touching unwittingly the
lady's arm. And the lady drew away. A deep longing swelled
in all his heart to rise with that clear music out of the dirt and
dust of that low life that held him prisoned and befouled. If
he could only live up in the free air where birds sang and
setting suns had no touch of blood! Who had called him to be
the slave and butt of all? And if he had called, what right had
he to call when a world like this lay open before men?
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