A Right to Die

Whipple nodded. 'That's putting it bluntly, but I know you're always blunt. Yes, I need you.' He smiled, more of a smile than before. 'I need help on a very confidential matter, and I decided to come to you. I doubt if I can pay what you would normally charge, but I can pay.'

'That can wait. I have said I have an obligation. Your problem?'

'It's very… personal.' His lips worked. He looked at me and back at Wolfe. 'In a way, it's related to what you said that night; that's why I quoted it. I have a son, Dunbar, twenty-three years old. Do you remember that you quoted Paul Laurence Dunbar that night?'

'Certainly.'

'Well, we named our son Dunbar. He's a good enough boy. He has his share of shortcomings, but on the whole he's a pretty good boy. He works for the ROCC. Do you know what the ROCC is?'

Wolfe nodded. 'The Rights of Citizens Committee. I have sent them small contributions.'

'Why?'

A corner of Wolfe's mouth went up. 'Come, Mr. Whipple. Another speech to quote?'

'I could use one, or my people could. My son could. He's pretty good at a speech. But he's what I-he's the problem, or rather, he's in the problem. He has got involved with a white girl and he's going to marry her, and I can't talk him out of it. So I need help.'

Wolfe made a face. 'Not mine,' he said emphatically.

Whipple shook his head. 'Not to talk to him. To find out what's wrong with her.'

'Except for the innate and universal flaws of her sex, there may be nothing wrong with her.'

'But obviously there is.' His brows were up. 'She is-not speaking as an anthropologist-of good family. She is young, attractive, and financially independent. For her to marry a Negro is absurd. Obviously-'

'My dear sir. Instead of another speech I could quote for an hour. Benjamin Franklin: 'A man in a passion rides a wild horse.' Or, by courtesy, a woman. An ancient Latin proverb: '_Ex visu amor._' Loving comes by looking. Pfui. Nothing in nature is absurd, though much is deplorable.'

'That's irrelevant.'

'Indeed?'

'Yes.' Whipple smiled. 'Do you remember that when you asked me how old I was and I said twenty- one, Moulton told me to say 'Sir'? Passion or love is not the point. A white woman taking to a black man, even going to bed with him, there's nothing absurd about that. But not marriage. I say if this Susan Brooke wants to marry my son there's something wrong with her. She has a screw loose. All the difficulties, the snags, the embarrassments, the complications…I don't need to list them for you.'

'No.'

'She couldn't possibly be a good wife to him, and she ought to know it. There's something wrong with her. It may be something specific in her past, or it may be her basic character. If I can find out what it is I can put it up to my son; he's not a fool. But the finding out-I don't know how, I'm not equipped for it. But you are.' He turned his palms up. 'So here I am.'

Wolfe said distinctly, 'Pride of race.'

'What! Who?'

'You, of course. You may not be aware-'

Whipple was moving, up. On his feet, his eyes, half closed, slanted down at Wolfe. 'I am not a racist. I see I have made a mistake. I didn't think-'

'Nonsense. Sit down. Your problem-'

'Forget it. Forget me. I should have forgotten you. To accuse me of-'

'Confound it,' Wolfe bellowed, 'sit down! An anthropologist disclaiming pride of race? You should know better. If you are an anthropos you have it. The remark was not offensive, but I withdraw it because it was pointless. You have been moved to action; what moved you is immaterial. What moves me is the fact that I'm indebted to you and you have dunned me, and I'll pay. But first I have a comment. Will you please sit down?'

'I suppose I'm touchy,' Whipple said, and sat.

Wolfe regarded him. 'The comment is about marriage. It's possible that Miss Brooke is more realistic than you are. She may be intelligent enough to know that no matter whom she marries there will be the devil to pay. The difficulties, snags, embarrassments, and complications-I use your words, though I would prefer sharper ones-are in any case inevitable. If she marries a man of her own color and class, the grounds for them will be paltry, ignoble, degrading, and tiresome. If she marries a Negro the grounds will be weighty, worthy, consequential, and diverting. I have never met a woman with so much sense, but there may be one. What if it is Miss Brooke?'

Whipple was shaking his head. 'No, sir. Of course that's very clever. It's good talk, but it's talk.' He smiled. 'My father used to say about a good talker, 'He rides words bareback.' No, sir.'

'You're fixed.'

'Yes. If you want to put it that way, I am.'

'Very well. You remember Mr. Goodwin.'

Whipple shot me a glance. 'Of course.'

'Will you arrange for him to meet Miss Brooke? Perhaps a meal, lunch or dinner, with you, her, and