“You mean a great deal to me too,” Miss Angoff said, then added quickly: “in the sense that I’ve always respected you, I’ve always felt that—well, that we thought alike. Even when you decided to go along with the Board; even then. But when you went down there just now—”

“Yes?”

The English teacher trembled slightly. “Mr. Paton, are you really against integration?”

Harley Paton picked up the 8-ball and turned it upside-down.

“I realize I’m overstepping myself,” she said, “but I’ve got to know. Because if you don’t believe, you can’t fight with me. And I can’t fight alone.”

The slender man turned in his chair and faced the window for a time; then he turned back.

“You won’t be fighting alone,” he said.

“Then why—”

“Miss Angoff, I’m going to tell you something now. I’ve never told anyone else, except my wife, and if you repeat it to a living soul I’ll deny it. I’ll say you misquoted me. Is that understood?”

Miss Angoff nodded.

“All right. I am in favor of integration. It has, in fact, been a dream of mine ever since I can remember. I not only want it to happen, I know that it must happen. And that is why I lied to them a few minutes ago and why I shall go on lying. If I took a radical stand now; if I proclaimed myself an antisegregationist, I would lose my power to help. The people would no longer trust me. And they have to trust me, that is vitally important.” He looked at Miss Angoff. “Do you understand?”

She hesitated, then said: “I think so.”

“But you’re not sure. I know. It took me a long time to get it clear. I thought, Whom will you offend by telling the truth? Only the bigots, the fools—but that isn’t true. If it were only the bigots and the fools we had to contend with, we’d have no problem. No; it’s the ordinary people, Miss Angoff. It’s our own friends. Mrs. Gargan and Mr. Spivak and Mrs. Seifried, schoolteachers, businessmen, politicians . . . Intelligent, honest, kind people. They’re the ones we’re contending with.”

Miss Angoff shook her head.

“That’s the most important thing to understand about the problem,” Paton said. “It’s a war in which you must defeat your own side.” He smiled bitterly. “Which almost makes us espionage agents. That’s right. I’m a saboteur, Miss Angoff. And saboteurs have always been more effective than assassins.”

“I’m sorry,” the English teacher said.

“Don’t be, there’s no reason for it. Direct action is wholesome. It’s honest. There is, please believe me, nothing I would rather do than go out and shake some sense into these people. I have arguments, just as you do, that are completely unassailable. Dialec­tically you and I could tear down the whole wormy edifice of segregation. We could call the children into the assembly hall this afternoon and lecture to them. But if we did that, we’d strike the most telling blow of all against the thing we want. I know that to be true.” He slammed the 8-ball down on the desk. Suddenly he looked angry. “This young demagogue, Cramer—he can do a lot of harm. But it’s nothing compared to the harm we can do, simply by telling the truth.”