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think of nothing to say。 The old bitterness came up in him and
he did not have time to cogitate and push it down。 His pulse
hammered in him and he was confused。 But they all looked at
him； and the silence was so strong that he had to speak。
His voice was high and it did not sound as though it came
from himself。 'William； I wonder how much of all the things I
have said to you when you were a child have stayed in your
mind。'
'I don't know what you m…m…means；' Willie said。
The words came before Doctor Copeland knew what he would
say。 'I mean that to you and Hamilton and Karl Marx I gave all
that was in me。 And I put all of my trust and hope in you。 And
all I get is blank misunderstanding and idleness and
indifference。 Of all I have put in nothing has remained。 All has
been taken away from me。 All that I have tried to do'
'Hush；' said Portia。 〃Father； you promised me that us would
not quarrel。 This here is crazy。 Us can't afford to quarrel。'
Portia got up and started toward the front door。 Willie and
Highboy followed quickly。 Doctor Copeland was the last to
come。
They stood in the dark before the front door。 Doctor Copeland
tried to speak； but his voice seemed lost some…。。 where deep
inside him。 Willie and Portia and Highboy stood in a group
together。
With one arm Portia held to her husband and brother and with
the other she reached out to Doctor Copeland。 'Less us all
make up now before us goes。 I can't stand
77
this here fighting between us。 Less us not ever quarrel no
more。'
In silence Doctor Copeland shook hands again with each of
them。 'I am sorry；' he said。
'It quite all right with me；' said Highboy politely。
'It quite all right with me too；' Willie mumbled。
Portia held all of their hands together。 'Us just can't afford to
quarrel。'
They said good…bye； and Doctor Copeland watched them from
the dark front porch as they went together up the street。 Their
footsteps as they walked away had a lonesome sound and he
felt weak and tired。 When they were a block away William
began playing his harmonica again。 The music was sad and
empty。 He stayed on the。 front porch until he could neither see
nor hear them any longer。
Doctor Copeland turned off the lights in his house and sat in
the dark before the stove。 But peace would not come to him。
He wanted to remove Hamilton and Karl Marx and William
from his mind。 Each word that Portia had said to him came
back in a loud； hard way to his memory。 He got up suddenly
and turned on the light。 He settled himself at the table with his
books by Spinoza and William Shakespeare and Karl Marx。
When he read the Spinoza aloud to himself the words had a
rich； dark sound。
He thought of the white man of whom they had spoken。 It
would be good if the white man could help him with Augustus
Benedict Mady Lewis； the deaf patient。 It would be good to
write to the white man even if he did not have this reason and
these questions to ask。 Doctor Copeland held his head in his
hands and from his throat there came the strange sound like a
kind of singing moan。 He remembered the white man's face
when he smiled behind the yellow match flame on that rainy
night—and peace was in him。
B
Y MIDSUMMER Singer had visitors more often than any other
person in the house。 From his room in the evening there was
nearly always the sound of a voice。 After dinner at the New
York Cafe he bathed and dressed himself in78
79
one of his cool wash suits and as a rule did not go out again。
The room was cool and pleasant。 He had an icebox in the
closet where he kept bottles of cold beer and fruit drinks。 He
was never busy or in a hurry。 And always he met his guests at
the door with a welcome smile。
Mick loved to go up to Mister Singer's room。 Even if he was a
deaf…and…dumb mute he understood every word she said to
him。 Talking with him was like a game。 Only there was a
whole lot more to it than any game。 It was like finding out
new things about music。 She would tell him some of her plans
that she would not tell anybody else。 He let her meddle with
his cute little chess men。 Once when she was excited and
caught her shirt…tail in the electric fan he acted in such a
kindly way that she was not embarrassed at all。 Except for her
Dad； Mister Singer was the nicest man she knew。
When Doctor Copeland wrote the note to John Singer about
Augustus Benedict Mady Lewis there was a polite reply and
an invitation for him to make a call when he found the
opportunity。 Doctor Copeland went to the back of the house
and sat with Portia awhile in the kitchen。 Then he climbed the
stairs to the white man's room。 There was truly none of the
quiet insolence about this man。 They had a lemonade together
and the mute wrote down the answer to the questions he
wished to know。 This man was different from any person of
the white race whom Doctor Copeland had ever encountered。
Afterward he pondered about this white man a long time。
Then later； inasmuch as he had been invited in a cordial
manner to return； he made another visit。
Jake Blount came every week。 When he walked up to Singer's
room the whole stairway shook。 Usually he car…A ried a
paper sack of beers。 Often his voice would come out y loud
and angry from the room。 But before he left his voice
gradually quieted。 When he descended the stairs he did not
carry the sack of beers any longer； and he walked away
thoughtfully without seeming to notice where he was going。
Even Biff Brannon came to the mute's room one night。 But as
he could never stay away from the restaurant for long； he left
in a half…hour。
Singer was always the same to everyone。 He sat in a
straight chair by the window with his hands stuffed tight into
his pockets； and nodded or smiled to show his guests that he
understood。
If he did not have a visitor in the evening； Singer went to a
late movie。 He liked to sit back and watch the actors talking
and walking about on the screen。 He never looked at the title
of a picture before going into a movie； and no matter what was
showing he watched each scene with equal interest。
Then； one day in July； Singer suddenly went away without
warning。 He left the door of his room open； and on the table in
an envelope adddessed to Mrs。 Kelly there were four dollars
for the past week's rent。 His few simple possessions were gone
and the room was very clean and bare。 When his visitors came
and saw this empty room they went away with hurt surprise。
No one could imagine why he had left like this。
Singer spent all of his summer vacation in the town where
Antonapoulos was being kept in the asylum。 For months he
had planned this trip and imagined about each moment they
would have together。 Two weeks beforehand his hotel
reservation had been made and for a long time he had carried
his railroad ticket in an envelope in his pocket。
Antonapoulos was not changed at all。 When Singer came into
his room he ambled placidly to meet his friend。 He was even
fatter than before； but the dreamy smile on his face was just
the same。 Singer had some packages in his arms an