But he did not
offer his hand again. He seemed to sense, in that instant, the vast
gulf between yellow and white. He felt Keith's contempt, the spurning
contumely that was in the other's mind. Under the pallid texture of his
skin there began to burn a slow and growing flush.
"Wait!" he said softly. In his flowing gown he seemed to glide to a
carven desk near at hand. He was back in a moment with a roll of
parchment in his hand. He sat down again and met Keith's eyes squarely
and in silence for a moment.
"We are both MEN, John Keith." His voice was soft and calm. His
tapering fingers with their carefully manicured nails fondled the roll
of parchment, and then unrolled it, and held it so the other could read.
It was a university diploma. Keith stared. A strange name was scrolled
upon it, Kao Lung, Prince of Shantung. His mind leaped to the truth. He
looked at the other.
The man he had known as Shan Tung met his eyes with a quiet, strange
smile, a smile in which there was pride, a flash of sovereignty, of a
thing greater than skins that were white. "I am Prince Kao," he said.
"That is my diploma. I am a graduate of Yale."
Keith's effort to speak was merely a grunt.
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