you’ve allowed me to be insulted in your presence.”
This was beginning to get on Alva’s nerves but he smiled at her indulgently:
“I suppose I should have gone down on the stage and biffed one of the comedians in the jaw?”
“No,” snapped Emma Lou, realizing she was being ridiculous, “but you could’ve stopped your friends from poking fun at me.”
“But, Sugar,” this was growing tiresome. “How can you say they were making fun of you. It’s beyond me.”
“It wasn’t beyond you when it started. I bet you told them about me before I came in, told them I was black. . . .”
“Nonsense, weren't some of them dark? I'm afraid,” he advanced slowly, “that you are a trifle too color-conscious,” he was glad he remembered that phrase.
Emma Lou flared up: “Color-conscious . . . who wouldn’t be color-conscious when everywhere you go people are always talking about color. If it didn’t make any difference they wouldn’t talk about it, they wouldn’t always be poking fun, and laughing and making jokes. . . .”
Alva interrupted her tirade. “You’re being silly, Emma Lou. About three-quarters of the people at the Lafayette tonight were either dark brown or black,
