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 der his feet, even one with so little colored blood as Bennet.—And the peculiar thing is that there are so many like him. They want their way for themselves and everybody else. They can be brutes, coarse, inhuman animals and yet because they are white they are all right. What bosh! What fallacy! And the funny part of it all is that we,—most of us, let them have their way.—Uphold them in it.—I suppose it's because we dislike bother and fuss. We had one big fuss," he continued his musings, "over the same kind of question and I suppose want to forget about it now. Just the same, they're wrong and we're wrong. We're to blame, too. We've been fed up on a lot of propaganda about white supremacy—the white man's burden and a lot of other rot till we half believe the stuff ourselves. That's what's the matter with us.—I wonder how long that sort of thing will last? I wonder. Well, I'll see some of this race question myself this summer first hand, then I'll know."

Dr. Tansey was still following the departing figure of Professor Armstrong as he soliloquized. He stood still gazing in the direction in which Armstrong had now disappeared after his soliloquy ceased, his mind ruminating on the question. Suddenly his thoughts returned to the present and he whirled and walked away from the college. His mind was indistinctly filled with pictures of atrocities and cruelties of which he had read as practiced in the South.