folded across his chest like a corpse.
"Now, let's have a drink!"
Halley was slow in getting behind the bar and they cursed him.
"Get back there and serve us, you big sack of fat!"
"Gimme a rye!"
"Up here, funk-buster!"
"Shake them sloppy hips!"
"Okay, okay, take it easy," Halley said, rushing to pour them drinks. "Just put y'all's money where your mouth is."
With Supercargo lying helpless upon the bar, the men whirled about like maniacs. The excitement seemed to have tilted some of the more delicately balanced ones too far. Some made hostile speeches at the top of their voices against the hospital, the state and the universe. The one who called himself a composer was banging away the one wild piece he seemed to know on the out-of-tune piano, striking the keyboard with fists and elbows and filling in other effects in a bass voice that moaned like a bear in agony. One of the most educated ones touched my arm. He was a former chemist who was never seen without his shining Phi Beta Kappa key.
"The men have lost control," he said through the uproar. "I think you'd better leave."
"I'm trying to," I said, "as soon as I can get over to Mr. Norton." Mr. Norton was gone from where I had left him. I rushed here and there through the noisy men, calling his name.
When I found him he was under the stairs. Somehow he had been pushed there by the scuffling, reeling men and he lay sprawled in the chair like an aged doll. In the dim light his features were sharp and white and his closed eyes well-defined lines in a well-tooled face. I shouted his name above the roar of the men, and got no answer. He was out again. I shook him, gently, then roughly, but still no flicker of his wrinkled lids. Then some of the milling men pushed me up against him and suddenly a mass of whiteness was looming two inches from my eyes; it was only his face but I felt a shudder of nameless horror. I had never been so close to a white person before. In a panic I struggled to get away. With his eyes closed he seemed more threatening than with them open. He was like a formless white death, suddenly appeared before me, a death which had been there all the time and which had now revealed itself in the madness of the Golden Day.
"Stop screaming!" a voice commanded, and I felt myself pulled away. It was the short fat man. I clamped my mouth shut, aware for the first time that the shrill sound was coming from my own throat. I saw the man's face relax as he gave me a wry smile.
"That's better," he shouted into my ear. "He's only a man. Remember that. He's only a man!" I wanted to tell him that Mr. Norton was much more than that, that he was a rich white man and in my charge; but the very idea that I was responsible for him was too much for me to put into words.
"Let us take him to the balcony," the man said, pushing me toward Mr. Norton's feet. I moved automatically, grasping the thin ankles as he raised the white man by the armpits and backed from beneath the stairs. Mr. Norton's head lolled upon his chest as though he were drunk or dead. The vet started up the steps still smiling, climbing backwards a step at a time. I had begun to worry about him, whether he was drunk like the rest, when I saw three of the girls who had been leaning over the balustrade watching the brawl come down to help us carry Mr. Norton up.
"Looks like pops couldn't take it," one of them shouted.
"He's high as a Georgia pine."
"Yeah, I tell you this stuff Halley got out here is too strong for white folks to drink."
"Not drunk, ill!" the fat man said. "Go find a bed that's not being used so he can stretch out awhile."
"Sho, daddy. Is there any other little favors I can do for you?"
"That'll be enough," he said.
One of the girls ran up ahead. "Mine's just been changed. Bring him down here," she said. In a few minutes Mr. Norton was lying upon a three-quarter bed, faintly breathing. I watched the fat man bend over him very professionally and feel for his pulse.
"You a doctor?" a girl
"Now, let's have a drink!"
Halley was slow in getting behind the bar and they cursed him.
"Get back there and serve us, you big sack of fat!"
"Gimme a rye!"
"Up here, funk-buster!"
"Shake them sloppy hips!"
"Okay, okay, take it easy," Halley said, rushing to pour them drinks. "Just put y'all's money where your mouth is."
With Supercargo lying helpless upon the bar, the men whirled about like maniacs. The excitement seemed to have tilted some of the more delicately balanced ones too far. Some made hostile speeches at the top of their voices against the hospital, the state and the universe. The one who called himself a composer was banging away the one wild piece he seemed to know on the out-of-tune piano, striking the keyboard with fists and elbows and filling in other effects in a bass voice that moaned like a bear in agony. One of the most educated ones touched my arm. He was a former chemist who was never seen without his shining Phi Beta Kappa key.
"The men have lost control," he said through the uproar. "I think you'd better leave."
"I'm trying to," I said, "as soon as I can get over to Mr. Norton." Mr. Norton was gone from where I had left him. I rushed here and there through the noisy men, calling his name.
When I found him he was under the stairs. Somehow he had been pushed there by the scuffling, reeling men and he lay sprawled in the chair like an aged doll. In the dim light his features were sharp and white and his closed eyes well-defined lines in a well-tooled face. I shouted his name above the roar of the men, and got no answer. He was out again. I shook him, gently, then roughly, but still no flicker of his wrinkled lids. Then some of the milling men pushed me up against him and suddenly a mass of whiteness was looming two inches from my eyes; it was only his face but I felt a shudder of nameless horror. I had never been so close to a white person before. In a panic I struggled to get away. With his eyes closed he seemed more threatening than with them open. He was like a formless white death, suddenly appeared before me, a death which had been there all the time and which had now revealed itself in the madness of the Golden Day.
"Stop screaming!" a voice commanded, and I felt myself pulled away. It was the short fat man. I clamped my mouth shut, aware for the first time that the shrill sound was coming from my own throat. I saw the man's face relax as he gave me a wry smile.
"That's better," he shouted into my ear. "He's only a man. Remember that. He's only a man!" I wanted to tell him that Mr. Norton was much more than that, that he was a rich white man and in my charge; but the very idea that I was responsible for him was too much for me to put into words.
"Let us take him to the balcony," the man said, pushing me toward Mr. Norton's feet. I moved automatically, grasping the thin ankles as he raised the white man by the armpits and backed from beneath the stairs. Mr. Norton's head lolled upon his chest as though he were drunk or dead. The vet started up the steps still smiling, climbing backwards a step at a time. I had begun to worry about him, whether he was drunk like the rest, when I saw three of the girls who had been leaning over the balustrade watching the brawl come down to help us carry Mr. Norton up.
"Looks like pops couldn't take it," one of them shouted.
"He's high as a Georgia pine."
"Yeah, I tell you this stuff Halley got out here is too strong for white folks to drink."
"Not drunk, ill!" the fat man said. "Go find a bed that's not being used so he can stretch out awhile."
"Sho, daddy. Is there any other little favors I can do for you?"
"That'll be enough," he said.
One of the girls ran up ahead. "Mine's just been changed. Bring him down here," she said. In a few minutes Mr. Norton was lying upon a three-quarter bed, faintly breathing. I watched the fat man bend over him very professionally and feel for his pulse.
"You a doctor?" a girl
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