changed my whole life, though I didn't dream at the time it could have any effect upon me. One day I was in court arguing a case before Judge Bassett. Though I liked the man, he exasperated me that day by taking what I thought was a wrong view. I put my point in every light I could, but he wouldn't come round and finally gave the case against me. «I shall take this case to the Supreme Court at my own expense,» I explained bitterly, «and have your decision reversed.» «If you want to waste your time and money,» he remarked pleasantly, «I can't hinder you.» I went out of the court and suddenly found Sommerfeld beside me. «You fought that case very well,» he said,
«and you'll win it in the Supreme Court, but you shouldn't have told Bassett so, in his own-» «Domain,» I suggested, and he nodded.
When we got to our floor and I turned towards my office, he asked, «Won't you come in and smoke a cigar? I'd like a talk.»
Sommerfeld's cigars were uniformly excellent, and I followed him very willingly into his big, quiet office at the back that looked over some empty lots. I was not a bit curious, for a talk with Sommerfeld usually meant a rather silent smoke. This time, however, he had something to say and said it very abruptly. «Barker's gone,» he remarked in the air, and then: «Why shouldn't you come in here and take his place?» «As your partner?» I exclaimed. «Sure,» he replied, «I'll make out the briefs in the cases as I did for Barker and you'll argue them in court. For instance,» he added in his slow way, «there is a decision of the Supreme Court of the State of Ohio that decides your case today almost in your words, and if you had cited it you'd have convinced Bassett,» and he turned and read out the report. «The state of Ohio,» he went on, «is one of the four states, as you know (I didn't know it), that have adopted the New York code-New York, Ohio, Kansas and California»-he proceeded, «the four states in a line across the continent; no one of these high courts will contradict the other. So you can be sure of your verdict. Well, what do you say?» he concluded. «I shall be delighted,» I replied at once. «Indeed, I am proud to work with you: I could have wished no better fortune.» He held out his hand silently and the thing was settled. Sommerfeld smoked a while in silence and then remarked casually, «I used to give Barker a hundred dollars a week for his household expenses: will that suit you?» «Perfectly, perfectly,»
I cried. «I only hope I shall earn it and justify your good opinion.»
«You are a better advocate than Barker even now,» he said, «but you have one drawback.» He hesitated. «Please go on,» I cried,
«don't be afraid! I can stand any criticism and profit by it-I hope.»
«Your accent is a little English, isn't it?» he said. «And that prejudices both judge and jury against you, especially the jury: if you had Barker's accent, you'd be the best pleader in the state.»
«I'll get the accent,» I exclaimed. «You're dead right: I had already felt the need of it, but I was obstinate. Now I'll get it, you may bet on that, get it within a week.» And I did. There was a lawyer in the town named Hoysradt who had had a fierce quarrel with my brother Willie. He had the most pronounced western American accent I had ever heard, and I set myself the task every morning and evening of imitating Hoysradt's accent and manner of speech. I made it a rule, too, to use the slow western enunciation in ordinary speech, and in a week no one would have taken me for anyone but an American.
Sommerfeld was delighted and told me he had fuller confidence in me than ever and from that time on our accord was perfect, for the better I knew him, the more highly I esteemed him. He was indeed able, hardworking, truthful and honest-a compact of all the virtues, but so modest and inarticulate that he was often his own worst enemy.
Chapter XIV. Law Work and Sophy
Now began for me a most delightful time.
Sommerfeld relieved me of nearly all the office work: I had only to get up the speeches, for he prepared the cases for me. My income was so large that I only slept in my office-room for convenience sake, or rather for my lechery's sake. I kept a buggy and horse at a livery stable and used to drive Lily or Rose out nearly every day. As Rose lived on the other side of the river, it was easy to keep the two separate, and indeed neither of them ever dreamed of the other's existence. I had a very soft spot in my heart for Rose: her beauty of face and form always excited and pleased me and her mind, too, grew quickly through our talks and the books I gave her. I'll never forget her joy when I first bought a small bookcase and sent it to her home one morning, full of books I thought she would like and ought to read.
In the evening she came straight to my office, told me it was the very thing she had most wanted, and she let me study her beauties one by one; but when I turned her round and kissed her bottom, she wanted me to stop. «You can't possibly like or admire that,» was her verdict.
«Indeed I do,» I cried, but I confessed to myself that she was right, her bottom was adorably dimpled but it was a little too fat, and the line underneath it was not perfect. One of her breasts, too, was prettier than the other, though both were small and stuck out boldly: my critical sense would find no fault with her triangle or her sex; the lips of it were perfect, very small and rose-red and her clitoris was like a tiny, tiny button. I often wished it were half an inch long like Mrs. Mayhew's. Only once in our intercourse did I try to bring her to ecstasy and only half succeeded; consequently, I used simply to have her just to enjoy myself, and only now and then went on to a second orgasm so as really to warm her to the love-play; Rose was anything but sensual, though invariably sweet and an excellent companion. How she could be so affectionate though sexually cold was always a puzzle to me. Lily, as I have said, was totally different: a merry little grig and born child of Venus: now and then she gave me a really poignant sensation. She was always deriding Mrs.
Mayhew, but curiously enough, she was very much like her in many ultimate ways-a sort of understudy of the older and more passionate woman, with a child's mischievous gaiety to boot and a childish joy in living. But a great and new sensation was now to come into my life. One evening a girl without a hat on and without knocking came into my office. Sommerfeld had gone home for the night and I was just putting my things straight before going out. She took my breath; she was astoundingly good looking, very dark with great, black eyes and slight girlish figure. «I'm Topsy,» she announced and stood there smiling, as if the mere name told enough. «Come in,» I said, «and take a seat: I've heard of you!» And I had. She was a privileged character in the town: she rode on the street-cars and railroads, too, without paying. Those who challenged her were all «poor white trash,» she said, and some man was always eager to pay for her. She never hesitated to go up to any man and ask him for a dollar or even five dollars-and invariably got what she wanted: her beauty was as compelling to men as her scornful aloofness. I had often heard of her as «that d… d pretty nigger girl!» but I could see no trace of any Negro characteristic in her pure loveliness. She took the seat and said with a faint southern accent I found pleasing, «You» name Harris?» «That's my name,» I replied smiling. «You here instead of Barker?» she went on. «He sure deserve to die hicuppin': pore white trash!» «What's your real name?» I asked. «They call me 'Topsy',» she replied, «but ma real true name is Sophy, Sophy Beveridge. You was very kind to my mother who lives upstairs. Yes,» she went on defiantly, «she's my mother and a mighty good mother, too, and don't you fergit it,» she added, tossing her head in contempt of my astonishment. «Your father must have been white,» I couldn't help remarking, for I couldn't couple Topsy with the old octoroon, do what I would. She nodded, «He was white all right: that is, his skin was,» and she got up and wandered about the office as if it belonged to her. «I'll call you 'Sophy,'«I said, for I felt a passionate revolt of injured pride in her. She smiled at me with pleasure. I didn't know what to do. I must not go with a colored girl, though I could see no sign of black blood in Sophy, and certainly she was astonishingly good looking, even in her simple sprigged gown. As she moved about I could not but remark the lithe panther-like grace of her and her little breasts stuck out against the thin cotton garment with a most provocative allurement. My mouth was parching when she swung round on me. «You ondressing me,» she said smiling, «and I'se glad, 'cause my mother likes you and I loves her-sure pop!» There was something childish, direct, innocent, even, about her frankness that fascinated me, and her good looks made sunshine in the darkening room.
«I like you, Sophy,» I said, «but anyone would have done as much for your mother as I did. She was ill!» «Hoo!» she snorted indignantly. «Most white folk would have let her die right there on the stairs. I know them: they'd have been angry with her for groaning.
I hate 'em!» And her great eyes glowered. She came over to me in a flash: «If you'd been an American, I could never have come to you, never! I'd rather have died, or saved and stole and paid you-» the scorn in her voice was bitter with hate: evidently the Negro question had a side I had never realized. «But you're different,» she
