mother, who was not there,
also argued within me. I could not consent. My friend pitied me and
offered to do the job himself.

To get a supply of clothes to take to Tuskegee was the question. Up to
that time I had never worn an undershirt, or a pair of drawers, or a
stiff-bosom shirt, or a stiff collar. All these I had not only to get,
but had to learn to wear them. My shirts and collars were bought
second-hand from a white neighbor and were all too large by three
numbers.

The last day of September, 1890, I left for Tuskegee. When I reached
there, although I was a young man, I could not tell what county I lived
in, in answer to Mr. Washington's question. I was admitted, after some
hesitancy on the part of Principal Washington, and sent to the farm to
work for one year in the daytime and to attend school at night.

I was dazed at the splendor of Tuskegee. There was Armstrong Hall, the
most imposing brick structure I had ever seen. Then came Alabama Hall,
where the girls lived. How wonderful! I could hardly believe that I was
not dreaming, and I was almost afraid I should awake. When I went to bed
that night I got between two sheets--something I had not been accustomed
to do. About twelve o'clock an officer came in, threw the cover off me,
and asked some questions about nightshirts, comb and brush, and
tooth-brush, with all of which I was but meagerly acquainted. He made me
get up, pull off my socks, necktie, collar, and shirt, and told me I
would rest better without them. I didn't believe him, but I obeyed.

The next morning I saw more activity among Negroes than I had ever seen
before in my life. Not only was everybody at work, but every soul seemed
to be in earnest. I heard the ringing of the anvil, the click of
machinery, the music of the carpenters' hammers. Before my eyes was a
pair of big fat mules drawing a piece of new and improved farm
machinery, which literally gutted the earth as the mules moved. Here was
a herd of cattle, there a herd of swine; here thumped the mighty
steam-engine that propelled the machine which delivered up its many
thousand of brick daily; there was another machine, equally powerful,
turning out thousands of feet of pine lumber every day. Then there were
the class-rooms, with their dignified teachers and worthy-looking young
men and women. Amid it all moved that wonderful figure, Booker T.
Washington.

I began at once a new existence. I made a vow that I would educate
myself there,