“Wrap up your throat and go to bed, and I ’ll go over to Doctor Pillsbury’s and get a diphtheria card to nail up on the house.  In the morning, first thing, we ’ll have to write notes recalling the invitations for to-morrow evening, and have them delivered by messenger boys.  We were fools for not finding out all about this man from some one who knew, before we invited him here.  Sadler don’t know more than half he thinks he does, anyway.  And we ’ll have to do this thing thoroughly, or our motives will be misconstrued, and people will say we are prejudiced and all that, when it is only a matter of principle with us.”

The programme outlined above was carried out to the letter.  The invitations were recalled, to the great disappointment of the invited guests.  The family physician called several times during the day.  Alice remained in bed, and the maid left without notice, in such a hurry that she forgot to take her best clothes.

Mr. Clayton himself remained at home.  He had a telephone in the house, and was therefore in easy communication with his office, so that the business did not suffer materially by reason of his absence from the store.  About ten o’clock in the morning a note came up from the hotel, expressing Mr. Brown’s regrets and sympathy.  Toward noon Mr. Clayton picked up the morning paper, which he had not theretofore had time to read, and was glancing over it casually, when his eye fell upon a column headed “A Colored Congressman.”  He read the article with astonishment that rapidly turned to chagrin and dismay.  It was an interview describing the Congressman as a tall and shapely man, about thirty-five years old, with an olive complexion not noticeably darker than many a white man’s, straight hair, and eyes as black as sloes.

“The bearing of this son of South Carolina reveals the polished manners of the Southern gentleman, and neither from his appearance nor his conversation would one suspect that the white blood which flows in his veins in such preponderating measure had ever been crossed by that of a darker race,” wrote the reporter, who had received instructions at the office that for urgent business considerations the lake shipping interest wanted Representative Brown treated with marked consideration.

There was more of the article, but the introductory portion left Mr. Clayton in such a state of bewilderment that the paper fell from his hand.  What was the meaning of it?  Had he been mistaken?  Obviously so, or else the reporter was wrong, which was manifestly improbable.  When he had recovered himself somewhat, he picked up the newspaper and began reading where he had left off.

“Representative Brown traveled to Groveland in company with Bishop Jones of the African Methodist Jerusalem Church, who is en route to attend the general conference of his denomination at Detroit next week.  The bishop, who came in while the writer was interviewing Mr. Brown, is a splendid type of the pure negro.  He is said to be a man of great power among his people, which may easily be believed after one has looked upon his expressive countenance and heard him discuss the questions which affect the welfare of his church and his race.”