Explore "Kingsblood Royal" by Sinclair Lewis on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
All Sunday he brooded on his Beaux Arts job, his week of humiliation as a large crested bird in a very small gilded cage surrounded by tittering bird-fanciers. He determined that as a Negro worker he would neither drift nor put up with insolence. He would look for the pattern and learn it.
He did not punch the time-clock on Monday morning, but walked into Harley's private office and said breezily, "That certainly was a phony job, Harley. Let me know, next summer, anything I can do to improve your golf, and good luck till then!"