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Tump Pack drew a shaken, unhappy breath.

“Now, I reckon you see whut a nigger-stopper is.”

Peter stood in the sunshine, looking at the estoppel clause, his lips agape. Twice he read it over. It held something of the quality of those comprehensive curses that occur in the Old Testament. He moistened his lips and looked at Tump.

“Why that can't be legal.” His voice sounded empty and shallow.

​“Legal! 'Fo' Gawd, nigger, whauh you been to school all dese yeahs, never to heah uv a nigger-stopper befo'!”

“But—but how can a stroke of the pen, a mere gesture, estop a whole class of American citizens forever?” cried Peter, with a rising voice. “Turn it around. Suppose they had put in a line that no white man should own that land. It—it's empty! I tell you, it's mere words!”

Tump cut into his diatribe: “No use talkin' lak dat. Our 'ciety thought you wuz a aidjucated nigger. We didn't think no white man could put nothin' over on you.”

“Education!” snapped Siner. “Education isn't supposed to keep you away from shysters!”