I thought I could not yet bear to meet my mother.

I thought I would wait awhile and make some preparation for that ordeal.
The house was in Locust Street, a little above 13th, and I walked to 14th, and to the middle of the block beyond, before it suddenly flashed upon me that there was nothing real about this--it was only a dream.

I can still feel something of the grateful upheaval of joy of that moment, and I can also still feel the remnant of doubt, the suspicion that maybe it _was_ real, after all.

I returned to the house almost on a run, flew up the stairs two or three steps at a jump, and rushed into that sitting-room--and was made glad again, for there was no casket there.
We made the usual eventless trip to New Orleans--no, it was not eventless, for it was on the way down that I had the fight with Mr.
Brown[8] which resulted in his requiring that I be left ashore at New Orleans.

In New Orleans I always had a job.