Without them my--my life would have been quite empty, Peter.
It's--it's very strange--amazing. You will understand as you read. I'll
be back to dinner, so good-by." In the strangest agitation the old
Captain walked out of the library. The last glimpse Peter had of him was
his meager old figure silhouetted against the cold gray fog that filled
the compound.
Neither the Captain's agitation nor his obvious desire that Peter should
at once read the new manuscript really got past the threshold of the
mulatto's consciousness. Peter's thoughts still hovered about old Rose,
and from that point spread to the whole system of colored service in the
South. For Rose's case was typical. The wage of cooks in small Southern
villages is a pittance--and what they can steal. The tragedy of the
mothers of a whole race working for their board and thievings came over
Peter with a rising grimness. And there was no public sentiment against
such practice. It was accepted everywhere as natural and inevitable. The
negresses were never prosecuted; no effort was made to regain the stolen
goods.
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