My Landlord, Being A Colored Man, Told Me
That He Was Sorry I Was Going.
Would I not remain?
Would I come
back to him? Had I been comfortable? Only for so and so or so and
so, he would have done better for me. No white American citizen,
occupying the position of landlord, would have condescended to such
comfortable words. I knew the man did not in truth want me to stay,
as a lady and gentleman were waiting to go in the moment I went out;
but I did not the less value the assurance. One hungers and thirsts
after such civil words among American citizens of this class. The
clerks and managers at hotels, the officials at railway stations,
the cashiers at banks, the women in the shops - ah! they are the
worst of all. An American woman who is bound by her position to
serve you - who is paid in some shape to supply your wants, whether
to sell you a bit of soap or bring you a towel in your bed-room at a
hotel - is, I think, of all human creatures, the most insolent. I
certainly had a feeling of regret at parting with my colored friend -
and some regret also as regards a few that were white.
As I drove down Pennsylvania Avenue, through the slush and mud, and
saw, perhaps for the last time, those wretchedly dirty horse
sentries who had refused to allow me to trot through the streets, I
almost wished that I could see more of them.
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