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.
"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.