early yet, I know, but I generally go about this time. Come along, won’t you, I’d like to talk to you. I'll be ready in about thirty minutes if you don’t mind the wait.”
Emma Lou warmed to the idea. At that moment, she would have warmed toward any suggestion of friendliness. Here, perhaps, was a chance to make a welcome contact. She was lonesome and disappointed, so she readily assented and felt elated and superior as she walked out of the office with the “boss.”
They went to Eddie’s for luncheon. Eddie’s was an elbow-shaped combination lunch-counter and dining room that embraced a United Cigar Store on the northeast corner of 135th Street and Seventh Avenue. Following Mrs. Blake’s lead, Emma Lou ordered a full noontime dinner, and, flattered by Mrs. Blake’s interest and congeniality, began to talk about herself. She told of her birthplace and her home life. She told of her high school days, spoke proudly of the fact that she had been the only Negro student and how she had graduated cum laude. Asked about her college years, she talked less freely. Mrs. Blake sensed a cue.
“Didn’t you like college?”
“For a little while, yes.”
“What made you dislike it? Surely not the studies?”
