“Well, according to the general Southern myth, which they have sold to simple careerists like Aldwick, that makes me one-hundred per cent. Negro. All right! I accept it! And I have no friends whom I honor more than Dr. Davis and Dr. Brewster and Miss Concord and Mr. Brazenstar! I’m very cheerful about being a Negro, gentlemen, and about the future of our race, and I think that’s enough.”
Boone Havock drawled, “I’ll say it’s enough—plenty!”
In the babble, Neil heard Prutt’s scream that this was all an ill-advised joke, caught Robert’s hysterical denials, and part of an argument between Firelock and Dunc Browler about Ash Davis’s competence. All such chatter was crushed by the fury of Boone Havock, the vasty railroad-contractor, who was roaring at Browler:
“You boys talking about whether some nigger knows a test-tube from his finger, while this terrible thing has happened: a member of this club confesses he’s a nigger and covers us all with shame! Who cares anything about nigger soldiers–-”
Colonel Levi Tarr began, “I care! The discrimination against them–-”
Dr. Roy Drover blanketed him: “The hell with that! As president of this club, I suggest that we accept Mr. Neil Kingsblood’s resignation right here and now—this minute.”
Neil looked not at Drover but at Rod Aldwick, relaxed, smiling, malicious.
Greg Marl was standing. “Roy! Before we do that or anything else, I suggest that we go home and think about it, and tomorrow you can appoint a committee to talk this over with Neil. Meantime, I can promise that nothing will appear in my papers, nor in the press services, if I can help it—and if all of you will keep quiet.”
Judge Cass Timberlane insisted, “Whether he was wise or not, Neil has been courageous, and we must keep our heads.”
Ackley Wargate—Neil used to play checkers with him—and win—Ackley shouted, “Sure we’ll keep our heads, but I know what my attitude is, right now. I have always considered Neil a good friend and been glad to entertain him in my home. I think I have always been nice to him. And I resent his having pretended to be a white man—sneaking in and meeting my wife and children on a basis of equality. I just want to assure him and all of you that that will not happen again.”
Judd Browler, bless him, solidest and oldest of friends, stood up to proclaim, “I think that’s nonsense! We all of us know that Neil is the swellest guy and the most loyal friend in town. What’s a mere thirty-second part Negro blood? He’s the whitest man here, and I stand by him.”
There were controversial rages, and Neil walked out on them. He was tired. He could no longer hear their voices. A curtain had been lowered between him and these white men. To have resigned from the white race was more important than to have resigned from the Federal Club.