Читать книгу Birthright онлайн

57 страница из 70

Mr. Tomwit had been a Confederate cavalryman in the Civil War, and there was still a faint breeze and horsiness about him. He was a hammered-down old gentleman, with hair thin but still jet-black, a seamed, sunburned face, and a flattened nose. His voice was always a friendly roar. Now, when he saw Peter turning across the street to meet him, he halted and called out at once:

“Now Peter, I know what's the matter with you. I didn't do you right.”

​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.