He stood on the threshold of a small white room furnished only with an iron bed, a cabinet, and two chairs. On the bed lay the terrible Negro he had met on the stairs at Singers house. His face was very black against the white, stiff pillows.

The dark eyes were hot with hatred but the heavy, bluish lips were composed. His face was motionless as a black mask except for the slow, wide flutters of his nostrils with each breath.

Get out, the Negro said.

Wait------ Jake said helplessly. Why do you say that?’

This is my house.’

Jake could not draw his eyes away from the Negros terrible face. But why?’

You are a white man and a stranger.’

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