"Goal!" That meant proper tombstones for the graves of his wife and
children, a new pulpit for the African Methodist Church, equal to that of
the African Baptist Church, future ease for his somewhat weary legs and
arms and back.
The next afternoon the division superintendent found himself awaited at his
office door by Pop Thornberry, who was very dusty and who carried a basket
heavy with clods of clay and mica. He had been out to the arid field that
morning.
"H-sh!" whispered Pop. "Doan' say a word, Mistah Monroe! Hyah's a lot o'
dem air goal lumps, and I know weah dey's bushels moah,--plenty 'nuff to go
into pahtnehship on."
The superintendent, looked bewildered, then amused, then ashamed.
Embarrassed for a reply, he finally said:
"I haven't time to talk to you now, Pop. Besides, I've made up my mind not
to go into the gold business. You see, I'm rich enough already. Good day."
Thereafter Pop lay in wait for Mr. Monroe daily, but the superintendent
always avoided him. Pop neglected to earn his living and spent his time
going about town with his basket of clods in search of the superintendent.
Pages:
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198