as if—Then the thought came that, as a neighbor, he should stop and tell Cissie of Tump's misfortune. He really ought to offer his services to Cissie, if he could do anything. At Cissie's request he might even aid Tump Pack himself. Peter got himself into a generous glow as he charged up a side alley, around to a rickety front gate. Let Niggertown criticize as it would, he was braced by a high altruism.
Peter did not shout from the gate, as is the fashion of the crescent, but walked up a little graveled path lined with dusty box-shrubs and tapped at the unpainted door.
Doors in Niggertown never open straight away to visitors. A covert inspection first takes place from the edges of the window-blinds.
Peter stood in the whipping dust, and the caution of the inmates spurred his impatience to see Cissie. At last the door opened, and Cissie herself was in the entrance. She stood quite still a moment, looking at Peter with eyes that appeared frightened.
“I—I wasn't expecting to see you,” she stammered.
“No? I came by with news, Cissie.”
“News?” She seemed more frightened than ever. “Peter, you—you haven't— ” She paused, regarding him with big eyes.
“Tump Pack's been arrested,” explained Peter, quickly, sensing the tragedy in her thoughts. “I came by to tell you. If there's anything I can do for you—or him, I'll do it.”
