"Yes, sir."
"Yes, I can see that you're beginning to learn. That's good. Two things our people must do is accept responsibility for their acts and avoid becoming bitter." His voice rose with the conviction of his chapel speeches. "Son, if you don't become bitter, nothing can stop you from success. Remember that."
"I shall, sir," I said. Then my throat thickened and I hoped he would bring up the matter of a job himself.
Instead, he looked at me impatiently and said, "Well? I have work to do. My permission is granted."
"Well, sir, I'd like to ask a favor of you . . ."
"Favor," he said shrewdly. "Now that's another matter. What kind of favor?"
"It isn't much, sir. You suggested that you would put me in touch with some of the trustees who would give me a job. I'm willing to do anything."
"Oh, yes," he said, "yes, of course." .
He seemed to think for a moment, his eyes studying the objects on his desk. Then touching the shackle gently with his index finger, he said, "Very well. When do you intend to leave?"
"By the first bus, if possible, sir."
"Are you packed?"
"Yes, sir."
"Very well. Go get your bags and return here in thirty minutes. My secretary will give you some letters addressed to several friends of the school. One of them will do something for you."
"Thanks, sir. Thank you very much," I said as he stood.
"That's all right," he said. "The school tries to look out for its own. Only one thing more. These letters will be sealed; don't open them if you want help. White folk are strict about such things. The letters will introduce you and request them to help you with a job. I'll do my best for you and it isn't necessary for you to open them, understand?"
"Oh, I wouldn't think of opening them, sir," I said.
"Very well, the young lady will have them for you when you return. What about your parents, have you informed them?"
"No, sir, it might make them feel too bad if I told them I was expelled, so I plan to write them after I get there and get a job . . ."
"I see. Perhaps that is best."
"Well, good-bye, sir," I said, extending my hand.
"Good-bye," he said. His hand was large and strangely limp.
He pressed a buzzer as I turned to leave. His secretary brushed past me as I went through the door.
The letters were waiting when I returned, seven of them, addressed to men with impressive names. I looked for Mr. Norton's but his was not among them. Placing them carefully in my inside pocket, I grabbed my bags and hurried for the bus.
Chapter 7
The station was empty, but the ticket window was open and a porter in a gray uniform was pushing a broom. I bought my ticket and climbed into the bus. There were only two passengers seated at the rear of the red and nickel interior, and I suddenly felt that I was dreaming. It was the vet, who gave me a smile of recognition; an attendant sat beside him.
"Welcome, young man," he called. "Imagine, Mr. Crenshaw," he said to the attendant, "we have a traveling companion!"
"Morning," I said reluctantly. I looked around for a seat away from them, but although the bus was almost empty, only the rear was reserved for us and there was nothing to do but move back with them. I didn't like it; the vet was too much a part of an experience which I was already trying to blot out of my consciousness. His way of talking to Mr. Norton had been a foreshadowing of my misfortune -- just as I had sensed that it would be. Now having accepted my punishment, I wanted to remember nothing connected with Trueblood or the Golden Day.
Crenshaw, a much smaller man than Supercargo, said nothing. He was not the type usually sent out to accompany violent cases and I was glad until I remembered that the only violent thing about the vet was his tongue. His mouth had already gotten me into trouble and now I hoped he wouldn't turn it upon the white driver -- that was apt to get us killed. What was he doing on the bus anyway? God, how had Dr. Bledsoe worked that fast? I stared at the fat man.
"How did your friend Mr. Norton make out?" he asked.
"He's okay," I said.
"No more fainting spells?"
"No."
"Did he bawl you out for what happened?"
"He didn't blame me," I said.
"Good. I think I shocked him more than anything else he saw at the Golden Day. I hoped I hadn't caused you trouble. School isn't out so soon, is it?"
"Not quite," I said lightly. "I'm leaving early in order to take a job."
"Wonderful! At home?"
"No, I thought I might make more money in New York."
"New York!" he said. "That's not a place, it's a dream. When I was your age it was Chicago. Now all the little black boys run away to New York. Out of the fire into the melting pot. I can see you after you've lived in Harlem for three months. Your speech will change, you'll talk a lot about 'college,' you'll attend lectures at the Men's House . . . you might even meet a few white folks. And listen," he said, leaning close to whisper, "you might even dance with a white girl!"
"I'm going to New York to work," I said, looking around me. "I won't have time for that."
"You will though," he teased. "Deep down you're thinking about the freedom you've heard about up North, and you'll try it once, just to see if what you've heard is true."
"There's other kinds of freedom beside some ole white trash women," Crenshaw said. "He might want to see him some shows and eat in some of them big restaurants."
The vet grinned. "Why, of course, but remember, Crenshaw, he's only going to be there a few months. Most of the time he'll be working, and so much of his freedom will have to be symbolic. And what will be his or any man's most easily accessible symbol of freedom? Why, a woman, of course. In twenty minutes he can inflate that symbol with all the freedom which he'll be too busy working to enjoy the rest of the time. He'll see."
I tried to change the subject. "Where are you going?" I asked.
"To Washington, D. C.," he said.
"Then you're cured?"
"Cured? There is no cure --"
"He's being transferred," said Crenshaw.
"Yes, I'm headed for St. Elizabeth's," the vet said. "The ways of authority are indeed mysterious. For a year I've tried to get transferred, then this morning I'm suddenly told to pack. I can't but wonder if our little conversation with your friend Mr. Norton had something to do with it."