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"I'll go see Mr. Tomwit," he said, and started uncertainly for the door. The cashier's falsetto stopped him: "No use, Peter. Mr. Tomwit surprised me, too, but no use talking about it. I didn't like to see such an important thing as the education of our colored people held up, myself. I've been thinking about it." "Especially when I had made a fair square trade," put in Peter, warmly.

"Dat Henry Hooker," criticized Tump, "allus was a lil ole dried-up snake in de grass." "He abused his position of trust," said Peter, gloomily; "I must say, his motives seem very obscure to me." "Dat sho am a fine way to put hit," said Tump, admiringly. "Why do you suppose he bought in the Tomwit tract and sold me the Dillihay place?"

It was diverting that a graduate of Harvard should come back to Hooker's Bend and immediately drop into such a fracas. Old Captain Renfrew, one-time attorney at law and representative of his county in the state legislature, sat under the mulberry in front of the livery-stable and plunged into a long monologue, with old Mr. Tomwit as listener, on the uneducability of the black race.

He owns farms all around the Dillihay place." Old Mr. Tomwit turned his quid over twice and spat thoughtfully. "That your deed in your pocket?" With the air of a man certain of being obeyed he held out his hand for the blue manuscript cover protruding from the mulatto's pocket. Peter handed it over.

Tomwit, "been investin' in real estate?" and broke into Homeric laughter. As Peter passed on, the constable dropped casually in behind the brown man and followed him up to the bank. To Peter Siner the walk up to the bank was an emotional confusion. He has a dim consciousness that voices said things to him along the way and that there was laughter.

"Good God, Tomwit! you don't imagine I'm comparing a nigger to a thoroughbred, sir!" On the street corners, or piled around on cotton-bales down on the wharf, the negro men of the village discussed the fight.

"Natchelly, natchelly," agreed the old cavalryman, dryly. "Henry has a different way to talk to ever' man, Peter." "In fact," proceeded Peter, "Mr. Hooker sold me the old Dillihay place in lieu of the deal I missed with you." Old Mr. Tomwit moved his quid in surprise. "The hell he did!" "That at least shows he doesn't think a negro school would ruin the value of his land.

"But you paid nothing for your option, Siner." "I had a clear-cut understanding with Mr. Tomwit " Mr. Hooker smiled a smile that brought out sharp wrinkles around the thin nose on his thin face. "You should have paid him an earnest, Siner, if you wanted to bind your trade. You colored folks are always stumbling over the law." Peter stared through the grating, not knowing what to do.

For some reason, just then, there flickered through Peter's mind a picture of the Arkwright boy sitting hunched over in the cedar glade, staring at the needles. All this musing was brushed away by the sight of old Mr. Tomwit crossing the street from the east side to the livery-stable on the west.

Hooker strolled around into his grill-cage; when he was thoroughly ensconced he began business in his high voice: "You came to see me about that land, Peter?" Yes, sir." "Sorry to tell you, Peter, you are not back in time to get the Tomwit place." Peter came out of his musing over the Boston banks with a sense of bewilderment. "How's that? why, I bought that land "