Wilbur had a mission, even aside from the nurture of his bank-account, a mission to enlighten Grand Republic about the danger of race riots that, he said, was inherent in the growth, since 1939, of its Negro colony from eight hundred to two thousand—to nearly two and a quarter per cent. of the total population, which, by Wilbur’s arithmetic, was ninety-eight and a quarter per cent.
Neil met them in the maple-paneled Green Mountain Cocktail Lounge of the Pineland for a quick one, and they lunched in the Fiesole Room. The presence of the colored waiters started them talking Negro Problem.
“Where you boys got it wrong,” said Mr. Wilbur Feathering, “is in looking on the Nigras here as a reservoir of labor to use in breaking strikes and busting the unions. Used to could, but the damn unions are some of ‘em beginning to enroll the niggers just like human beings.”
“I believe he’s right,” said Randy.
They heard their friend, Glenn Tartan, manager of the Pineland, asking a waiter, “Where is Mr. Greenshaw?”
Wilbur wailed, “That’s exactly what I mean about you Northerners! Mister Greenshaw! For a nigger headwaiter! None of you know how to treat the black apes.”
Lucian Firelock objected, “On committees, I’ve often said ‘Mister’ to Nigras.”
“Aw, you’re just trying to show off, Firelock,” said Feathering. “Me, I have never in my whole life called any colored person Mister, Missus, or Miss, and I never shall, so help me God! Here’s what you might call the philosophy of it. The minute you call one of the bastards Mister, you’re admitting that they’re as good as you are, and bang goes the whole God-damn White Supremacy racket!”
Lucian Firelock, once highly thought of in Georgia university circles, protested, “Do you always have to talk of the Nigras with hatred?”
“I don’t hate the shines. Fact, they tickle me to death. They’re such sly, thievish monkeys, and they all dance good, and when they find a white man that’s onto ‘em, like me, they just laugh like hell and admit they’d all be a damn sight better off under slavery. But you’re one of these New Southern Liberals that claim it’s okay to have niggers right at your house for dinner!”
Lucian said earnestly, “No, I believe thoroughly in Segregation. It prevents conflicts. But I also believe in scrupulously seeing that the Nigras get accommodations exactly as good as ours. For example, there is a Nigra chemist here named Dr. Ash Davis, and while I don’t want to intrude on his home or have him intrude on mine, he deserves the best of everything.”
Feathering snorted, “I’ve heard of that guy, and I wouldn’t worry about his equal accommodations being so damn equal! Fact, his having his appointment at all is a stinking injustice to some young white scientist that’s toiled and sacrificed and prepared himself for a good position, and then he finds this fat, greasy, four-flushing nigger has plotted and connived and grabbed it! Don’t that make your blood boil?