about who ought, by all the laws of nature, to be dead." When they reached the railway station in New York a rolling chair had been provided for Washington, but he refused to use it and walked to the train leaning on the arms of his friends.
As the train pulled out and headed for his beloved Southland, his spirits began to revive, and he seemed much stronger. He was determined to beat death in this race. As they journeyed on, he would ask the names of the stations. When he was told that they were passing Greensboro, a triumphant look came into his eyes. Charlotte, Greenville, Atlanta—he was winning! Finally they came to Chehaw, the little station five miles from Tuskegee, the junction point of the railroad from Tuskegee to the main line.
A few more minutes, and he saw the familiar and much loved scenes of his own Tuskegee.
He had won!
But his victory was a short one. For when the sun came up on the next morning, the fourteenth day of November, 1915, Booker Washington was dead.
