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THE BLACKER THE BERRY . . .
colored face. He was in his shirt sleeves and carried his coat on his arm. Bell bottom trousers hid all save the tips of his shiny tan shoes. “Fats” was looking at Emma Lou, too, but as he passed, he turned his eyes from her and broadcast a withering look at the lad who had spoken:
“Man, you know I don’t haul no coal.” There was loud laughter and the trio merrily clicked their metal-cornered heels on the sun-baked pavement as they moved away.
