Peter was moved to the conventional query, asking in what class the
Captain had been graduated. But while his very voice was asking it,
Peter thought what a strange thing it was that he, Peter Siner, a negro,
and this lonely old gentleman, his benefactor, were spiritual brothers,
both sprung from the loins of Harvard, that ancient mother of souls.
[Illustration: The old gentleman turned around at last]
From the darkness outside, Dr. Jallup's horn summmoned the two men.
Captain Renfrew got out of his gown and into his coat and turned off his
gasolene light. They walked around the piazza to the front of the house.
In the street the head-lights of the roadster shot divergent rays
through the darkness. They went out. The old Captain took a seat in the
car beside the physician, while Peter stood on the running-board. A
moment later, the clutch snarled, and the machine puttered down the
street. Peter clung to the standards of the auto top, peering ahead.
The men remained almost silent. Once Dr. Jallup, watching the dust that
lay modeled in sharp lights and shadows under the head-lights, mentioned
lack of rain.
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