" He made a swift gesture, moved by this passion
of his life. "I don't mean racial equality. To my mind racial equality
is an empty term. One might as well ask whether pink and violet are
equal. But what I do insist on is autonomous development."
The old preacher nodded, staring into the dust. "Sho! 'tonomous
'velopment."
Peter saw that his language, if not his thought, was far beyond his old
companion's grasp, and he lacked the patience to simplify himself.
"Why don't you want to marry us, Parson?"
Parson Ranson lifted his brows and filled his forehead with wrinkles.
"Well, I dunno. You an' Miss Cissie acts too much lak white folks fuh a
nigger lak me to jine you, Mr. Peter."
Peter made a sincere effort to be irritated, but he was not.
"That's no way to feel. It's exactly what I was talking about,--racial
self-reliance. You've married hundreds of colored couples."
"Ya-as, suh,"--the old fellow scratched his black jaw.--"I kin yoke up a
pair uv ordina'y niggers all right. Sometimes dey sticks, sometimes dey
don't." The old man shook his white, kinky head.
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