Perry came to despise and be nauseated by all of these things, but he did not hate the people from which he came, nor loathe himself for being one of them, for he knew these people, and he knew that they were good people, warm-hearted and generous, yes, and brave and courageous. He knew that any one of the posturing morons among those 100%ers would dive under the wheels of a locomotive to rescue a child, that the crooked real-estate promoter would buy a meal for any hungry man, and the vicariously ambitious mother would go without food to buy her daughter a party dress. He knew that kindliness and generosity were as universal as deception and cut-throat competition. Perry realized that not one in a thousand men had ever had a chance to act the decent, honest creature that he potentially was. He knew that the ordinary man from 1939 was too weak-willed and too naive to stand up against the system in which he found himself.
The thing for which Perry most admired the Americans of his period was that in them, potentially, lay 2086. In a short century and a half these callous, kind hearted, gullible, deceitful bumpkins had stumbled and zig-zagged into a culture they could be proud of. Somehow or other (Cathcart’s explanations seemed too simple now) the universal longing of the older generations that things might be different for their children had borne fruit. Perhaps that alone had accounted for it. Perhaps to have the desire for better things for our children, and our children’s children, than we had for ourselves is to be immortal and to become divine.
Perry had ample opportunity as the days marched by to see this culture as well as to hear about it and view it in shadow show. He visited the socialistic state of Wisconsin which had grown up in its own direction within the framework of the federation. Diana and he spent several days in the Gulf States where there still remained the large group of blacks not yet assimilated by the white majority. Here he found a culture as free as the rest of the country—perhaps less highly mechanized, but undoubtedly richer in arts, and social graces, and zest for living.
Gradually Diana introduced Perry to her friends and helped him over the rough spots in adjusting himself to new social customs. After a few weeks of the casual, easy, good-humored atmosphere of her circle of acquaintances, he felt, and she agreed, that he was ready to get by in any company without betraying the peculiar circumstances of his life. He had acquired some of the modern liking for privacy and decided not to expand the number of those who knew.
One morning about six weeks after his advent Diana announced that she expected a visitor. Perry looked up with interest. “Who is it? Anyone I know?”
“No. It’s a young fellow named Bernard. I used to be very close to him. He’s a dancer, too. We used to be partners.”
“What do you mean, ‘used to be very close to him’?”
“Why, I was very fond of him. We lived together about a year.”
“What!”
“Why, Perry, what’s the matter?”
“What do you mean? Do you mean you lived with him in the sense that we are living together now?”
Her face grew dark. “You’ve no right to ask that sort of a question. However, I will answer. We lived together, as man and woman, as you and I are doing.”
He strode up and down, a black look on his face. Finally he turned and faced her. “Diana, is this your way of telling me that you are through with me?”
She reached out and placed a hand impulsively on his arm. “Why, no, darling. No, No.”
He shrugged off her grasp. “Then why do you invite this old flame of yours here? Are you trying to humiliate me?”
Her face was white and tense. “Perry, Perry darling! Nothing of the sort. You mustn’t think such things. He is coming because he has occasion to. He and I are billed to appear in a series of dances together. He’s coming here to work out the choreography and rehearse.”