Try Harlem, will you? Dick's lip curled cynically. I guess you won't find that much easier. Howard here is a lawyer, but the race doesn't want coloured lawyers. If they're in trouble they go to white lawyers, and they go to white banks and white insurance companies. They shop on white One hundred and twenty-fifth Street. Most of 'em, he added fiercely, pray to a white God. You won't get much help from the race.
Don't believe him, Byron, Mary cried. You'll get along. I'm sure you will . . . Her tone trembled with indecision.
Olive's eyes flashed. Why, Mary, she protested. Do you get along? Don't you get less salary than white girls and aren't white girls without half your experience or ability promoted over you.
It's true, said Mary quietly, but don't discourage him, please.
They don't discourage me, Byron replied. I'm full of life and pep and I'll get something to do. You'll see. I don't care very much what it is. I'm not proud.
Well, old man, said Howard, I wish you luck. We'll do all we can, all of us, but the others . . .
Don't they want a member of the race to get on?
Say, Dick inquired, where have you been living? They do not. You'll have to fight your own race harder than you do the other . . . every step of the way. They're full of envy for every Negro that
