Peter went closer, not caring to take the whole village into his confidence.
“How came you to turn down my proposition, Mr. Tomwit,” he asked, “after we had agreed and drawn up the papers?”
“We-e-ell, I had to do it, Peter,” explained the old man, loudly.
“Why, Mr. Tomwit?”
“A white neighbor wanted me to, Peter,” boomed the cavalryman.
“Who, Mr. Tomwit?”
“Henry Hooker talked me into it, Peter. It was a mean trick, Peter. I done you wrong.” He stood nodding his head and rubbing his flattened nose in an impersonal manner. “Yes, I done you wrong, Peter,” he acknowledged loudly, and looked frankly into Peter's eyes.
The negro was immensely surprised that Henry Hooker had done such a thing. A thought came that perhaps some other Henry Hooker had moved into town in his absence.
“You don't mean the cashier of the bank?”
Old Mr. Tomwit drew out a plug of Black Mule tobacco, set some gapped, discolored teeth into corner, nodded at Peter silently, at the same time utilizing the nod to tear off a large quid. He rolled this about with his tongue and after a few moments adjusted it so that he could speak.
“Yeah,” he proceeded in a muffled tone, “they ain't
