The Color of the American Dream

He recalled what to this, he had gravely returned. No one before him, never, not even the infamous poet, had so sat up to his neck in such a bath. It showed for that matter how little one of his race could escape after all from history. What was it but history, and of their kind very much, to have assurance of more money than the palace builder himself could have dreamed of? This was the element that bore him up,. into which Maggie scattered on occasion her exquisite coloring drops. They were of the color, of what on earth, of what but the extraordinary American good faith. He well knew how she had struck him, in respect to the beautiful world