the point, Hoddy. You don't notice the heat; but it is
always there, pressing down. You must always shave and part your
hair straight. It doesn't matter that you deal with black people.
It isn't for their sakes, it's for your own. Mr. McClintock does
it; and he knows why. In the morning and at night he is dressed as
he would dress in the big hotels. In the afternoon he probably
loafs in his pajamas. You can, too, if you wish.."

"All right, teacher; I'll shave and comb my hair." He rose for fear
she might touch him again.

But such is the perversity of the human that frequently thereafter
he purposely crooked the part in his hair, to give her the excuse
to fetch the comb. Not that he deliberately courted danger; it was
rather the searcher, seeking analysis, the why and wherefore of
this or that invading emotion.

He was always tenderly courteous; he answered her ordinary
questions readily and her extraordinary ones patiently; he always
rose when she entered or left the room. This formality irked her:
she wanted to play a little, romp. The moment she entered the room
and he rose, she felt that she was immediately consigned to the
circle of strangers; and it emptied her heart of its joy and filled
it with diffidence. There was a wall; she was always encountering
it; the one time she was able to break through this wall was when
the part in his hair was crooked.

She began to exercise those lures which were bred in her bone--the
bones of all women. She required no instructions from books; her
wit and beauty were her own. What lends a tragic mockery to all
these tender traps of hers was that she was within lawful bounds.
This man was her husband in the eyes of both God and man.

But Spurlock was ever on guard, even when she fussed over his hair.
His analytical bent saved him many times, though he was not
sensitive to this. The fire--if there was any in him--never made
headway against this insistant demand to know the significance of
these manifold inward agitations.

Thus, more and more Ruth turned to the mongrel dog who bore the
name of Rollo unflinchingly--the dog that adored her openly,
shamelessly, who now without a whimper took his diurnal tubbing.
Upon this grateful animal she lavished that affection which was
subtly repelled by its lawful object.

Spurlock was by nature orderly, despite his literary activities.
Before the first month was gone, McClintock admitted that the boy
was a find. Accounts were now al