Then from all his heaps of
correspondence, from business engagements, from matters of national
importance, he would turn aside and go through these himself, culling
them out. He would sort a pile here for this family; one there for
another, according to what he considered would suit each. Many a time
one could scarcely find a place to step in his office for the
pictures and books. In all things he received, but to share.

"Then he had a way of kicking organizations to pieces for a few
minutes. If some rural school had a creditable exhibit he would order
that the senior class, 150 strong, should be taken there, whether it
was one mile or ten miles away. He would order the class out to see
how some poor, illiterate farmer had raised a bumper crop of peas,
corn, sugar cane, and peanuts, how he surrounded himself with
conveniences, both inside and outside the home. Now he would declare a
half holiday; now he would allow the students to sleep a half-hour
later in the morning.

"In the same way the teachers would get an outing once or twice a
year, sometimes at night, sometimes in the day. As the teachers are on
duty for both day and night school, and as the students usually rise
at 5:30 and breakfast at 6, these little breaks were windfalls. They
sent each one back to his labors with a smile. He knew the value of
change and the psychology of cheer. No wonder then that when death
closed his eyes both teachers and students went about heavy of limb
and with eyes that told too plainly what the heart felt.

"Just as he touched the students and teachers with little thoughtful
deeds so he touched the town and State, both white and black. One
feature of his funeral illustrated how complete had been his triumph
over narrow prejudices. He was always talking about the white man up
the hollow, back in the woods. How many times have I heard him urge
picturesquely upon gatherings of teachers to 'win that old fellow
who, when you begin to talk Negro education and Negro schoolhouse,
scratches his head, leans to one side, and looks far away. That's the
man,' he would say, 'that you've got to convince that Negro education
is not a farce.'

"Well, that man was at Booker T. Washington's funeral. He came there
on foot, on horseback, in buggies, in wagons. He was there in working
clothes, in slouched hat, with no collar.

"During the service I chanced to stand near the end of the platform.
Pretty soon I felt a rough brushing against my elb