When I came to the whistle was blowing. I lay flat on my back in the shade of a rack of plates. Two white fellows and a coloured fellow were bent over me, waiting for me to come to. When I opened my eyes they helped me to get to thy feet.
One of the white fellows gave me a sympathetic grin. 'You stuck your chin right straight into his fist.'
The other one said, 'I got some of your money for you- twenty-five dollars and some change.' He stuck it in my hand.
The coloured fellow's eyes were muddy, opaque. His flat brown face was unsmiling. He didn't say anything.
I was still dazed. I braced myself against the plates, shook my head to clear it.
One of the white fellows said, 'Take it easy, son.' They both waited a moment longer and when I didn't say anything they moved off together, grinning. They were elderly, kindly men. I wasn't angry at them; I just hadn't given them a thought. I leaned there for a while, half in the noonday sun, feeling a little faint. I put my hand up tentatively and stroked my chin. When I looked up I saw a couple of other white fellows who had been in the game standing at a distance, watching me.
Then I remembered the blond boy's eyes. I recalled his words, 'I'll cool the nigger!' I felt that sick, gone feeling again. I began trembling; I felt weak, scared. I knew I couldn't take it; but I was scared of what I might do. Scared of what might happen to me afterward. If I could just stop thinking; every time I thought of trouble I thought of death. Then I looked at the coloured fellow again. His face was impassive.