ducation 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.

"Exactly," squeaked the cashier. "And rather than let your project be
delayed, I'm going to offer you the old Dillihay place at exactly the
same price, Peter--eight hundred."

"The Dillihay place?"

"Yes; that's west of town; it's bigger by twenty acres than old man
Tomwit's place."

Peter considered the proposition.

"I'll have to carry this before the Sons and Daughters of Benevolence,
Mr. Hooker."

The cashier repeated the smile that bracketed his thin nose in wrinkles.

"That's with you, but you know what you say goes with the niggers here
in town, and, besides, I won't promise how long I'll hold the Dillihay
place. Real estate is brisk around here now. I didn't want to delay a
good work on account of not having a location." Mr. Hooker turned away
to a big ledger on a breast-high desk, and apparently was about to
settle himself to the endless routine of bank work.

Peter knew the Dillihay place well. It lacked the timber of the other
tract; still, it was fairly desirable. He hesitated before the tarnished
grill.

"What do you think about it, Tump?"

"You won't make a mistake in buying," answered the high voice of Mr.
Hooker at his ledger.

"I don' think you'll make no mistake in buyin', Peter," repeated Tump's
bass.

Peter turned back a little uncertainly, and asked how long it would take
to fix the new deed. He had a notion of making a flying canvass of the
officers of the Sons and Daughters in the interim. He was surprised to
find that Mr. Hooker already had the deed and the notes ready to sign,
in anticipation of Peter's desires. Here the banker brought out the set
of papers.

"I'll take it," decided Peter; "and if the lodge doesn't want it, I'll
keep the place myself."

"I like to deal with a man of decision," piped the cashier, a wrinkled
smile on his sharp face.

Peter pushed in his bag of collections, then Mr. Hooker signed the deed,
and Peter signed the land notes. They exchanged the instruments. Peter
received the crisp deed, bound in blue manuscript cover. It rattled
unctuously. To Peter it was his first step toward a second Tuskegee.

The two negroes walked out of the Planter's Bank filled with a sense of
well-doing. Tump Pack was openly proud of having been connected, even in
a casual way, with the purchase. As he walked down the st