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Siner took the enthusiastic hand offered him and studied the heavily set, powerful man bending over the seat.
When Peter Siner started on his indefinite errand among the village stores he believed it would require much tact and diplomacy to discuss the race question without offense. To his surprise, no precaution was necessary.
But when it comes to standing a Wayne County teacher's examination, the specific answers to the specific questions on a dozen old examination slips are worth all the degrees Harvard ever did confer. So, in his newspapered study, Peter Siner looked up long lists of questions, and attempted to memorize the answers.
For Tump to start out carrying a forty-four, meaning to blow a rival out of his path, and to wind up hard at work, picking cotton at nothing a day for a man whose offer of three dollars a day he had just refused, certainly held the makings of a farce. On the heels of this came the news that Peter Siner meant to take advantage of Tump's arrest and marry Cissie Dildine.
"When a fellow goes to college he don't git marched to preachin', does he, Siner?" "I never did." "We-e-ll," mused young Sam, doubtfully, "you're a nigger." "I never saw any white men marched in, either." "Oh, hell! I wish I was in college." "What are you sitting out here thinking about?" inquired Peter of the ingenuous youngster. "Oh football and women and God and how to stack cards.
They exhibited not the least curiosity as to the mechanics of the tricks, but asked for more and still more, with the naïve delight of children in the mysterious. Peter Siner walked down the street with his Messianic impulse strong upon him. He was in that stage of feeling toward his people where a man's emotions take the color of religion.
Presently she added, "You could do a lot better up North, Peter." "For whom?" "Why, yourself," said the girl, a little surprised. Siner nodded. "I thought all that out before I came back here, Cissie. A friend of mine named Farquhar offered me a place with him up in Chicago, a string of garages. You'd like Farquhar, Cissie. He's a materialist with an absolutely inexorable brain.
The girl carried a big package in her arms, and now she manipulated this to put out a slender hand to Peter. "This is Cissie Dildine, Mister Siner." She smiled up at him. "I just came over to put my name down on your list. There was such a mob at the Benevolence Hall last night I couldn't get to you."
He was finally reduced to thanking her for her present, then stood guard as she tripped out into the grimy street. In the sunshine her glossy black hair and canary dress looked as trim and brilliant as the plumage of a chaffinch. Peter Siner walked back into the kitchen with the fixed smile of a man who is thinking of a pretty girl.
Peter stood looking at the hobbledehoy without smiling. "Aren't you going to school?" he asked. Arkwright shrugged. "Aw, hell!" he said self-consciously. "We got marched down to the protracted meetin' while ago whole school did. My seat happened to be close to a window. When they all stood up to sing, I crawled out and skipped. Don't mention that, Siner." "I won't."
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