The nearby diners had quieted to listen. Alice got a strained smile on her face and began talking politics. But I wouldn't let her get away with it. 'What are you trying to do now, educate me?' I said.

Neither of us said another word; we were both relieved when it was over. The waiter brought me a slip of paper clipped to the bill face down on the tray. When I picked up the bill I read the two typed lines:

We served you this time but we do not want your patronage in the future.

I started to get up and make my bid, to do my number for what it was worth. But when I looked at Alice I cooled. I could take it, I was just another nigger, I was going to lynch me a white boy and nothing they could do to me would make a whole lot of difference anyway-but she had position, family, responsibility.

The bill was twenty-seven dollars and seventy-three cents. I figured they'd padded it but I didn't beef. I simply borrowed the waiter's pencil and wrote: 'At your prices I cannot afford to eat at your joint often enough for you to worry about,' and put the note, three tens, and some change on the tray.

The waiter leaned over and said, 'If it will make you feel any better I'm going to quit. And you can read what I think about it in the People's World.'

I looked at him a moment and said, 'If you're thinking about how I feel, when you should have quit was before you brought the note.'

When I held Alice's wrap I could feel her body trembling. A tiny vein throbbed in her temple and nerve tension picked at her face. On the way out it was an effort to walk slowly; she pulled at me as if she wanted to run. We had to wait for the car. Passing people looked at us curiously. I thought we should have waited inside, but it didn't make any difference now. When the car came Alice ran out to it and slipped beneath the wheel. I gave the doorman a five-dollar bill, his assistant a couple of ones.