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Tump Pack drew a shaken, unhappy breath. "Now, I reckon you see whut a nigger-stopper is." Peter stood in the sunshine, looking at the estoppel clause, his lips agape. Twice he read it over. It held something of the quality of those comprehensive curses that occur in the Old Testament. He moistened his lips and looked at Tump. "Why that can't be legal." His voice sounded empty and shallow.
"Legal! 'Fo' Gawd, nigger, whauh you been to school all dese yeahs, never to heah uv a nigger-stopper befo'!" "But but how can a stroke of the pen, a mere gesture, estop a whole class of American citizens forever?" cried Peter, with a rising voice. "Turn it around. Suppose they had put in a line that no white man should own that land. It it's empty! I tell you, it's mere words!"
Tump marked a sentence in the guaranty of the deed with a rusty forefinger and looked up at Peter in mixed triumph and accusation. Peter leaned over the deed, amused. "Let's see your mare's nest." "Well, she 'fo' God is thaiuh, an' you sho let loose a hundud dollars uv our 'ciety's money, an' got nothin' fuh hit but a piece o' paper wid a nigger-stopper on hit!"
A certain penitence for having been irritated at Tump softened Peter. "That's all right, Tump; there's nothing to find." At that moment the soldier began to bob his head. "Eh! eh! eh! W-wait a minute!" he stammered. "Whut dis? B'lieve I done foun' it! I sho is! Heah she am! Heah's dis nigger-stopper, jes lak I tol' you!"
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