carry it to the Supreme Court; he would show the money had not been his, he had had no right to buy; he would beg the cashier. His head seemed to spin around and around.
He climbed the steps into the Planter's Bank and opened the screen-door. The cashier glanced up briefly, but continued busily at his ledger.
Peter walked shakenly to the barred window in the grill.
“Mr. Hooker.”
“Very busy now, Peter,” came the high voice.
“I want to know about this deed.”
The banker was nimbly setting down long rows of figures. “No time to explain deeds, Peter.”
“But—but there is a clause in this deed, Mr. Hooter, estopping colored persons from occupying the Dillihay place.”
“Precisely. What about it?” Mr. Hooker snapped out his inquiry and looked up suddenly, catching Peter full in the face with his narrow-set eyes. It was the equivalent of a blow.
“According to this, I—I can't establish a school on it.”
“You cannot.”
“Then what can I do with it?” cried Peter.
“Sell it. You have what lawyers call a cloud on the title. Sell it. I'll give you ten dollars for your right in it, just to clear up my title.”
