ing foreign and did
not pertain to her at all.

He would better go North. It would be safer up there. No doubt he could
find another colored girl in the North. The thought of fondling any
other woman filled Peter with a sudden, sharp repulsion. However, Peter
was wise. He knew he would get over that in time.

With this plan in mind, Peter set out down the street, intending to
cross the Big Hill at the church, walk over to his mother's shack, and
pack his few belongings preparatory to going away.

It was not a heroic retreat. The conversation which he had had with his
college friend Farquhar recurred to Peter. Farquhar had tried to
persuade Peter to remain North and take a position in a system of
garages out of Chicago.

"You can do nothing in the South, Siner," assured Farquhar; "your
countrymen must stand on their own feet, just as you are doing."

Peter had argued the vast majority of the negroes had no chance, but
Farquhar pressed the point that Peter himself disproved his own
statement. At the time Peter felt there was an clench in the
Illinoisan's logic, but he was not skilful enough to analyze it. Now the
mulatto began to see that Farquhar was right. The negro question was a
matter of individual initiative. Critics forgot that a race was composed
of individual men.

Peter had an uneasy sense that this was exceedingly thin logic, a mere
smoke screen behind which he meant to retreat back up North. He walked
on down the poor village street, turning it over and over in his mind,
affirming it positively to himself, after the manner of uneasy
consciences.

An unusual stir among the negroes on Hobbett's corner caught Peter's
attention and broke into his chain of thought. Half a dozen negroes
stood on the corner, staring down toward the white church. A black boy
suddenly started running across the street, and disappeared among the
stores on the other side. Peter caught glimpses of him among the
wretched alleyways and vacant lots that lie east of Main Street. The boy
was still running toward Niggertown.

By this time Peter was just opposite the watchers on the corner. He
lifted his voice and asked them the matter, but at the moment they began
an excited talking, and no one heard him.

Jim Pink Staggs jerked off his fur cap, made a gesture, contorted his
long, black face into a caricature of fright, and came loping across the
street, looking back over his shoulder, mimicking a run for life His
mummery set his au