“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
