He meditated, after Vestal had gone to sleep:

–-That colored fellow in my class all through school—what was his name?—Emerson Woolcape, was it?—he always seemed quiet and decent enough and yet it always irritated me to see that black face of his among all the nice white girls.

–-Come to think of it, his face wasn’t black. It was as fair as mine; we’d’ve all thought he was white if they hadn’t told us he was part Negro. Still and all, when you knew that, you thought of him as being black, and it made you sore to see him showing off and answering questions when Judd and Eliot had failed on ‘em.

–-Those black roustabouts in uniform in Italy—I never really talked to any of ‘em, but they always seemed so different—the standoffish way they stared at us—I wouldn’t’ve stood for a three-star general looking at me like those boogies did. Yessir, if we want to preserve our standards of civilization, we got to be firm and keep the niggers in their place. Though I guess I’m not so hot in being firm with Belfreda, the little monkey!

* * * * *

The great young banker-warrior, legitimate heir of the sword-swallowers of Dumas, the princely puzzlers of Tolstoy, the brave young gentlemen of Kipling, twisted in bed, not altogether happy.

Chapter 4

They were finding again the Christmas spirit that had been lost through the war years. All of his intimates were still fighting in Europe or the Pacific, and it was as much for the thought of them as for Biddy that Neil and Vestal bustled all over town, buying a Christmas tree a full month early.

They hoped to have Belfreda as a sweet and trusting member of the Yuletide family, and Vestal throbbed at her, “Mr. Kingsblood and I have already found the jolliest tree, and the expressman is bringing it here tonight. We’ll keep it in the garage. Wouldn’t you like to help us—you know, make a little ceremony of it? The tree is just as much for you as it is for us, of course.”

“We got our own tree, at home.”

“Oh, do you have Christmas trees on Mayo Street?”

“Yes, we got Christmas trees on Mayo Street! And we got families on Mayo Street!”

Vestal was more furious with herself than with the girl. She perceived that she had been assuming that Christmas was a holiday invented by the Pilgrim Fathers at Plymouth, along with Santa Claus and yule-logs and probably the winter solstice, and must all be delightful novelties to persons of African descent. She stuttered:

“Yes, I meant—I didn’t mean—I just thought it might amuse you–-”

Belfreda said airily, “No, thanks. I’m going out with my boyfriend this evening,” and she departed, leaving Vestal and Neil flat in the kitchen which they had once loved, but which Belfreda had turned into an alien and hostile cave.

“Oh, let’s get out of here! The place reeks of her,” Neil raged.