“It cain’t be did, niggers,” Skeeter Butts announced in a tone of finality, as he lighted a new cigarette on the stub of the old one. “Dis here chu’ch is a busted onfinancial institootion.”

He leaned his hide-bottomed chair against the trunk of the chinaberry tree in the churchyard, tipped his derby hat forward until the brim was level with his eyes, and surveyed with disgust that dilapidated structure known as the Shoofly church.

“’Twon’t cost much,” the Rev. Vinegar Atts protested earnestly. “Dis chu’ch is been needin’ dem improvements fer a long time.”

“’Tain’t so,” Hitch Diamond growled. “You don’t need no ’lectric readin’ lamp to sot on yo’ pulpit. You kin read by de light over yo’ head.”

“You ain’t needin’ no fancy pulpit chair to sot on, either,” Skeeter Butts remarked.

“De springs is all busted outen de bottom of de one I’m got,” Vinegar complained. “When I sot down I feels like I’m settin’ in a bushel basket. My stomick is over on my knees an’ my foots is mighty nigh up to my chin. De price ain’t so powerful high—twenty dollars fer de settee an’ five fer de readin’ lamp. Dat don’t seem much to me.”

“Us’ll git you dem fancy decoorshuns fer Christmus, Brudder Atts,” Skeeter smiled. “Dis here is August——”

He stopped suddenly and peered down the road with great interest. A slim, black negro, dressy and citified, was picking his way along the dusty road toward the Shoofly church.

The three men adjusted their chairs so they could watch him as he came up the little hill. They noticed that he gazed down at the deep sand through gold-rimmed spectacles, that he picked places in the road which would not bury his shiny patent-leather shoes, that he exercised great care to protect his linen suit from flying particles of dust, and he carried a near-gold wrist-watch which he consulted frequently, as if he were bound to get up that hill on schedule time.

“I knows him,” Skeeter Butts whispered. “I met his ’quaintance at de deppo dis mawnin’. He blowed in wid a long-whisker white man whut is visitin’ de Revun Sentelle. Dis here new coon is callin’ hisse’f Green Trapps.”

Green sighed with relief when he reached the gate of the churchyard, and came across the lawn toward the three men with an ingratiating grin. Vinegar Atts kicked the chair on which his feet were resting toward the newcomer as an invitation to be seated.

“Mawnin’, Greenie,” Skeeter Butts greeted. “Us is been expectin’ you to look up some of yo’ own kin an’ color.”

He introduced Green to Vinegar and Hitch, passed him the cigarettes, and then waited for Green to open the conversation.

“You niggers ain’t pregaged in no bizziness discussion, I hopes,” Green remarked. “I don’t hanker to butt in.”

“’Tain’t no secret bizzness,” Skeeter replied. “Dis here Revun Atts craves a readin’ lamp an’ a pulpit chair fer his chu’ch, an’ us members don’t aspire to git him none.”

Thereupon for the enlightenment of Green Trapps, the three men repeated all the conversation and arguments which had occupied them for an hour before Green arrived. At the conclusion of the talk-fest, Skeeter Butts demanded:

“What does you think about it, Greenie?”

“I agrees wid you-all,” Green said promptly. “Vinegar needs dem great improvements, an’ de Shoofly cain’t affode to git ’em. Therefo’ you-all oughter turn yo’ minds to somepin mo’ important.”

He took off his gold spectacles, polished them carefully with a big silk handkerchief, then rubbed the shining face of his wrist-watch and finally flicked the corner of his handkerchief over his shiny shoes.

“I don’t know nothin’ more important,” Vinegar Atts grumbled in manifest disappointment.

“As de revun pastor of de Shoofly is you got a D.D. degree?” Green asked blandly.

“Got a—which?” Vinegar asked, showing the whites of his eyes.

“Is you ever took on a kawlidge-gate degree?” Green repeated.

“I done tuck ten degrees in de Nights of Darkness Lodge,” Vinegar replied. “I don’t need no mo’. De las’ one I tuck dey made me ballunce a raw egg on my bald head an’ a nigger hit it wid a paddle—ruint all my nice lodge clothes.”

“Aw, shuckins! I don’t mean dat,” Green snorted in disgust. “Ain’t you no Doctor of Dervinity? Don’t de white folks call you de Revun Dr. Vinegar Atts? Ain’t you no scholard like de Revun Dr. Sentelle an’ dem yuther white preachers?”

“Naw, suh,” Vinegar said regretfully. “Dis here pig ain’t got no curl to his tail like you mentions.”

“You had oughter git you a D.D.,” Green said with conviction.

“De Elder needs a couple of D’s,” Hitch Diamond rumbled, delighted with the idea.

“De Revun Dr. Vinegar Atts, D.D. of Dervinity, pasture of de Shoofly Mefdis Chu’ch, Tickfall, Loozanny,” Skeeter Butts vocalized, mouthing the words pompously. “Gosh! I’d gib a dollar to see de Elder dolled up like dat!”

“It’ll cost fifty dollars,” Green said quietly, looking at his wrist-watch as if he feared to miss an engagement. “I kin git one fer you fer dat many money.”

Vinegar’s face was glowing like a saint who had seen a heavenly vision.

“How come you is peddlin’ dem D.D.’s aroun’?” he asked.

“I travels wid de Revun Dr. Gilbo, pres’dent of de Silliway Female Institoot,” Green said easily. “Us come to town dis mawnin’ to intervoo some rich folks in dis town. Us don’t never run atter nobody’s money, but we makes it a p’int to go whar money is at, an’ we is powerful kind an’ high perlite to de fellers whut is got money.”

“Dat’s right,” Vinegar applauded.

“Now dis here Dr. Gilbo, he told me ef I could sell a couple of D.D.’s on dis trip to a couple deservin’ nigger peachers, he wouldn’t hab no objections. I got de papers wid me now.”

He reached into his breast pocket and brought forth a crackling sheet of parchment. The three Tickfall negroes had never seen a college diploma. Had they been able to read this one they might have been enlightened; but unfortunately for them it was written in Latin. Its mystery conferred upon it a vast importance.

Green Trapps indicated a blank space with his finger.

“All I’m got to do is to write yo’ name right dar, Revun,” he said. “Atter dat I collecks my money, passes dis here obscribe over to you, an’ de D.D. is did.”

“Sounds easy,” Vinegar said, his face aglow.

“Of co’se, niggers, dis here is white folks’ bizzness an’ us is got to speak it easy,” Green said as he rolled his parchment and replaced it in his coat pocket. “Dar ain’t many white kawlidges in dis worl’ whut D.D.’s niggers.”

He looked at his wrist-watch and rose to his feet.

“De Revun Dr. Gilbo takes two pills an’ a charcoal tablet at ’leben o’clock, niggers,” he announced. “I got to go wait on him.”

“Hol’ on, Greenie,” Hitch Diamond rumbled. “Ef we wus ter be of a mind to bestow a D.D. on Vinegar, how soon could us git de goods?”

“Colleck yo’ money up by to-night, an’ us will bestow de paper befo’ de Shoofly cong’gation tomorrer night,” Green suggested as he turned and walked away from the conference.

When Green had gone the three sat for a long time in perfect silence. Vinegar was longing and hoping for that little scrap of parchment, wondering how he could attain it. Skeeter was wishing in an indifferent way that Vinegar had an honorary degree, but he was determining in his own mind that he would purchase a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles just like Green’s. At last Hitch Diamond spoke:

“Listen to dis idear, niggers: de Nights of Darkness Lodge meets to-night. I favors axin’ all de members of de lodge to cont’ibute a few change to make up de fifty dollars an’ buy Vinegar Atts a couple of D’s.”

“Dat’s de trick, Hitchie,” Skeeter shouted. “Of co’se, de lodge is secret work an’ de white folks won’t know nothin’ about it. Dat comes up to de rules dat Green laid down.”

“I think dat’s a good notion,” Hitch mumbled.

“I favors it,” Skeeter agreed.

“Amen,” said Vinegar Atts.

---

The session of the Nights of Darkness Lodge proceeded quietly until the question was asked: “Is there any new business?”

Thereupon Hitch Diamond, the grand exalted ruler, rose to his feet, cleared his throat, and spoke:

“Brudders, us cullud folks of Tickfall an’ especial de members of dis lodge b’lieves in showin’ high an’ exalted salutes to people whut deserves it. I rises to pernounce dat de time is now come to show a pertickler favor to our feller brudder member, Revun Vinegar Atts.”

Vinegar arose, bowed, and sat down.

“De high exalted chaplain of dis lodge ain’t as high as he might git, an’ I aims to ax you-alls to put him whar he b’longs. We wants a preacher we kin be proud of, an’ Vinegar Atts needs a couple of D.’s to finish him off complete. I moves dat we chip in an’ buy ’em fer him.”

“Thank ’e, suh,” Vinegar arose and said, and sat down.

Hitch’s speech was not as enlightening as it should have been, and it was met with complete silence. Each member was trying to think out what Hitch meant. After a while Skeeter Butts remarked:

“I favors buyin’ a D.D. fer Vinegar, an’ I now cont’ibutes one dollars to dat puppus.”

Skeeter walked over to the altar in the middle of the lodge floor and dropped a resounding dollar upon the top. The negroes looked at the dollar with great curiosity, but they needed more light before they were willing to add any money to that contribution. After another silence, Figger Bush asked:

“Whut is dat one silver dollar fer, Skeeter?”

“To he’p buy a D.D.,” Skeeter informed him.

“Whut am a D.D.?” Bush inquired.

“It’s a—a—a kawlidge piece of paper wid writin’ on it,” Skeeter explained lamely.

“How much do she cost?” Bush persisted.

“Fifty dollars,” Skeeter told him.

A murmur of protest ran around the room. No one had the remotest idea what Skeeter was talking about, but they could all grasp the significance of fifty dollars. It was apparent that they would not favor buying anything for Vinegar Atts which cost that much money.

“I don’t ketch on to dis here foolishness,” Figger complained. “I don’t gib none of my money fer somepin I ain’t understood in my mind. I motions dat Vinegar Atts git up an’ tell us whut he wants us to git him.”

“Dar is a white man in town whut wants to make me a preachin’ doctor,” Vinegar explained. “De license cost fifty dollars an’ some of my frien’s an’ lodge brudders wants me to git it.”

“Whut does you aim to doctor—hosses?” Figger asked.

“Naw, suh, ’tain’t no medicine doctor; it’s a preachin’ doctor I wants to be, like Dr. Sentelle.”

“Huh!” Figger grunted and sank down into his seat. The mystery was too great for his feeble mind.

At that moment there was a loud knocking at the door. Then the outer guard reported:

“A stranger is outside—he ain’t got no grip or password—wants to git inside.”

“Whut mought his name be?” Hitch inquired.

“Green Trapps.”

Hitch received this announcement with joy, for now he had some one who could explain the mystery.

“De lodge will be at rest,” he announced. “Outer guard, admit Perfessor Green Trapps.”

The lodge stood up and viewed this citified negro as he walked slowly up the hall under the escort of the guard. His appearance was pleasing, and they gave him the lodge salute when he was introduced, and sat down to look at him some more.

“You is come jes’ in time, Perfessor,” Hitch Diamond bellowed. “Us is got our D.D. program in a jam, an’ we wants you to tell it to us agin, so our minds kin git clear.”

“’Tain’t hard to understan’, brudders,” Green Trapps began, as he surveyed the assembly through his gold-rimmed spectacles, and smiled at them benevolently. “De Silliway Female Institoot is got two hon’able degrees to bestow on two deservin’ preachers of de cullud race, an’ de Revun Vinegar Atts is ’lected to git one. De female institoot will make him a doctor fer fifty dollars.”

“We don’t want Vinegar made no female doctor!” Figger Bush squeaked.

“We don’t make him no female doctor,” Green explained patiently. “We makes him a D.D.—a Doctor of Dervinity.”

“Is you one of dem things you mentions?” Pap Curtain, a tall, yellow negro, asked in a snarling voice.

“Naw, suh, I ain’t no preacher. I’s wid a kawlidge. Therefo’ I’s a D.V.”

“Is dar any more D.D.’s in dis town?” Pap asked.

“Dar ain’t but one an’ he’s white,” Green replied. “His name is Revun Dr. Sentelle, D.D.”

“Dar now!” Pap Curtain exclaimed exultantly. “I think I ketch on. Dis here female kawlidge wants to fix Vinegar up like Revun Sentelle—make him sound dis way: De Revun Dr. Vinegar Atts, D.D. Is dat de notion?”

“Yes, suh,” Green grinned. “Dat’s a bird’s-eye view!”

Pap ran his hand into his capacious pocket and brought forth a silver dollar. He dropped it with a loud thump beside Skeeter’s money on the altar.

“I favors it, nigger. Less gib Vinegar all de frills!”

Hitch Diamond hastened to contribute his dollar, and Vinegar Atts followed him with two dollars.

“I’s willing’ to pay mo’ dan anybody fer whut I gits fer myse’f,” he announced happily.

Figger Bush walked forward and laid down fifty cents.

“I ain’t no scholard, brudders,” he said apologetically. “I don’t see more’n four bits wuth of good dat I’ll git outen dem D’s.”

One by one the members of the lodge advanced and contributed their bit to this honorary degree to be bestowed upon their chaplain. But silver dollars were scarce in the crowd, and fifty-cent pieces were soon exhausted and two-bit contributions were scanty and then dimes and nickels made up the rest of the pile.

“Ef eve’ybody is done his do, de inner guard will please count de remains,” Hitch announced.

Figger Bush advanced and separated the silver in neat little piles. A minute later he announced the result:

“Twenty-five dollars!”

The lodge received this statement in gloomy silence. Green Trapps sat down, took the college diploma out of his pocket and unrolled it. The sight of that precious document almost brought the tears to Vinegar’s eyes.

It was a long time before a suggestion was offered, but finally Pap Curtain spoke:

“Brudders, I’s powerful sorry dat we couldn’t make de riffle an’ fix Vinegar up right. But dese here is hard times fer niggers an’ cash money is scarce. But I rejoices dat we is raised as much as we has. Now I makes dis motion: Vinegar is been bawlin’ fer a readin’ lamp an’ a pulpit settee fer a long time. Less take dis cash money an’ ease down Vinegar’s feelin’s a little by buyin’ him de lamp an’ de settee.”

“Dat’s de notion,” a chorus of voices answered.

But Green Trapps, D.V., saw no reason why that money should be diverted from its original purpose. He sprang to his feet, waving the college diploma.

“I got a better notion dan dat, brudders,” he exclaimed earnestly. “I figgers dat Vinegar wants dis here degree. Ain’t dat so, Revun?”

“Dat’s right,” Vinegar murmured.

“Ef dat’s de case, I makes you-all dis bizziness trade: de price of a D.D. is fifty dollars. Dis lodge has raised jes’ half of dat money. Therefo’ I moves you dat dis lodge bestow de Revun Vinegar Atts wid jes’ one D!”

“Shore!” Figger Bush squeaked. “He oughter be satisfied wid one D.”

“How would dat suit you, Revun?” Hitch Diamond asked.

“Dat’ll suit fine,” Vinegar smiled, his eager eyes resting upon the parchment in Green’s hand. “Ef I kin buy de doctor part of de double D, I’s willin’ to let de Dervinity part of it slide.”

“Ever who favors bestowin’ de Revun Vinegar Atts wid one D say aye!” Hitch Diamond howled.

“Aye!” the crowd bellowed.

“I thanks you-all fer yo’ int’rust,” Green Trapps announced quietly. “We will bestow de Revun Vinegar Atts wid one D at de Shoofly chu’ch tomorrer night.”

---

All day long Vinegar Atts occupied himself by decorating the Shoofly church. He had festooned the building with arm-loads of long Spanish moss taken from the trees in the swamp. He had brought a wagon-load of ferns and palms and wild flowers from the fields and woods, and now as the shadows of the evening lengthened in the large, barnlike structure, he viewed the result with dissatisfaction.

“I needs dat settee an’ readin’ lamp to sot off dese here decorooshuns,” he sighed, scratching his head in perplexity. “Atter I git my D, I got to go an’ set down in a ole chair wid de bottom busted out, an’ dat ain’t doin’ it up in de right sort of style.”

He walked up and surveyed the offending chair, turned it over and looked underneath and uttered a disgusted grunt. He could make nothing out of it except what it was, a broken, dilapidated chair. Then a great idea entered his head.

“I bet de white folks is got plenty pulpit chairs an’ readin’ lamps dat dey don’t need. I’ll go out an’ beg a few.”

Ten minutes later Vinegar paused at the gate before the home of the Rev. Dr. Sentelle.

There were only two churches in Tickfall, one for the whites and one for the blacks. For nearly thirty years neither church had had a change of preachers, so that Dr. Sentelle and Vinegar Atts were old friends and workers in the Tickfall vineyard.

Dr. Sentelle was a scholar, an orator, and a cripple. All that can be comprised in the statement that the people, white and black, loved him almost to adoration, will express what he was to Tickfall.

Vinegar Atts was a squatty, pot-bellied black giant with long gorilla-like arms; he was bald except for a little tuft of hair over each ear, which made him look like a moon-faced mule wearing a blind bridle. He was not a scholar, nor a cripple. He could hang some steel hooks in a five-hundred-pound bale of cotton and trot up the gangplank of a steamboat singing a religious song and not start the perspiration on the top of his bald head by the achievement.

As for oratory, his colored friends thought that Vinegar was the prince of platform spellbinders. He had the pertinacious guinea-fowl’s gift of gab, a voice which could be heard for two miles, and a vox humana stop to his chest tones that threw in the tremolo for funeral and evangelistic occasions and made his emotional auditors weep copiously over something they did not know anything about.

Vinegar paused at the gate because a stranger was sitting on the porch beside Dr. Sentelle. Vinegar “read sign” on this strange white man to determine whether it would be worth while to go up and interrupt his conversation by requesting a favor. The stranger was old, white-haired, and his movements and the sound of his voice indicated that he was feeble. Vinegar did not know it, but he was looking at the Rev. Dr. Gilbo, president of the Silliway Female Institute.

“Dat white man is some sort broke-down preacher,” Vinegar soliloquized, and he rattled the gate-latch loudly.

“All right, Vinegar, come in!” Dr. Sentelle called. “What do you want?”

“’Scuse me, white folks,” Vinegar murmured, bowing apologetically to the stranger. “I come to ax Elder Sentelle could he he’p me outen a jam.”

“Has the Shoofly outfit fired you?” Dr. Sentelle smiled.

“Naw, suh. Dey’s gwine bestow special honors on me to-night,” Vinegar chuckled, smoothing his stovepipe hat with a big handkerchief. “I done spent de day fixin’ up de chu’ch wid flowers, an’ now I needs two mo’ things to gimme style. Is you white folks got a pulpit chair an’ a ’lectric readin’ lamp dat you ain’t needin’?”

Dr. Sentelle appeared to give himself up to deep thought. In reality he was devoting himself to an internal enjoyment of that amusing request. Dr. Gilbo uttered a surprised chuckle which he promptly covered by a cough and hastily offered Vinegar a cigar.

“What sort of honor is going to be bestowed on you, Vinegar?” Dr. Sentelle asked.

“De Nights of Darkness Lodge is bought me a D,” Vinegar told him.

The white men remained silent, praying for more light. Vinegar busied himself with his cigar, placing the gold band on his little finger and lighting the smoke.

“That’s quite an honor,” Dr. Sentelle ventured, wondering what he was talking about and hoping that Vinegar would say something to illumine the darkness.

“Yes, suh. Dey comes pretty tol’able expensive an’ de lodge couldn’t affode to buy but one,” Vinegar replied, and a little note of disappointment was in his voice.

“That’s too bad,” Dr. Sentelle murmured sympathetically.

“De cost wus twenty-five dollars per each D,” Vinegar sighed. “Of co’se dat’s most too high fer niggers to pay, even jes’ one. So I’s mighty glad to git it.”

“Are you alluding to some lodge degree, my man?” Dr. Gilbo asked.

“Naw, suh, it’s a preacher degree. All de fust-class preachers has ’em. Of co’se, I would druther hab a D.D., but two of ’em costes fifty dollars.”

With a gasp of astonishment the two men comprehended what Vinegar was talking about.

“Oh, I understand,” Dr. Gilbo murmured. “You are receiving the honorary degree of Doctor of Divinity to-night.”

“Yes, suh, dat’s it. Only but I don’t git but one D.”

“May I inquire what college is honoring you?” Gilbo asked.

Vinegar’s answer came very near being the end of Dr. Gilbo.

“De Silliway Female Institoot,” Vinegar told him.

Then there was silence for the space of ten minutes. Vinegar stood as quietly as a mule hitched to a post. Dr. Sentelle’s frail body was shaking with suppressed laughter. Dr. Gilbo felt that his reason was tottering on the crystal throne of intellect. At last Vinegar spoke:

“Could you lend me de loant of de pulpit chair an’ de readin’ lamp, elder?”

“No,” Dr. Sentelle murmured chokingly, “I deeply regret that I cannot.”

“Thank ’e, suh,” Vinegar responded. “I knows you would ef you could. I reckin I better mosey on. I’s shore much obleeged to dis here nice white man fer my seegar. Thank e, Kunnel.”

Vinegar turned and walked as far as the gate, when Sentelle called to him.

“Vinegar, my friend and I would like to attend the meeting at the Shoofly church to-night.”

Vinegar’s stovepipe hat swept the ground and his grotesque body was distorted into an elaborate bow.

“My Lawd, white folks,” he howled in delight. “Dis pore ole nigger won’t ax de good Lawd fer no better blessin’ dan to hab you-alls come out to de Shoofly. I’ll hab a place on de flatforms fer bofe you-alls. De orgies begins at nine o’clock.”

“That rascal, Green Trapps, is at the bottom of this,” Dr. Gilbo said with conviction. “I am going out to the Shoofly church to-night, but I don’t intend to arrive at the beginning of the exercises. I think I shall appear at the psychological moment.”

“I’s wid you in dat plan, white folks,” Dr. Sentelle snickered.

---

It was never any trouble to get a crowd in the Shoofly church. All that was necessary was to ring the bell and the colored population flocked to the church like doves to the windows.

But on this occasion all the brothers of the lodge had hinted that there would be a most important meeting on this particular night, the grapevine telephone had carried the news, and the people began to arrive from the swamps and plantations long before dark. Some of the old women anxious to get a good seat, went trailing up to the church just about sunset like a lot of old hens going to roost.

By nine o’clock there was not standing room in the church, nor a fence-post or a tree around the building to which another horse or mule could be hitched.

After the congregation had sung songs until they were almost exhausted, Hitch Diamond stepped up to the platform and spoke:

“Brudders an’ sisteren, we is come to dis place so dat de lodge brudders of de Nights of Darkness kin bestow a D on Revun Vinegar Atts. Eve’ybody chipped in a few change an’ we bought it fer him wid twenty-five dollars. De high chief money-keeper will now advance an’ hand over de money.”

Figger Bush pushed through the crowd, and emptied all his pockets, as he laid a pile of silver on a little table beside the pulpit.

“I ain’t spent none of it, brudders,” he announced. “It’s all right dar jes’ like you gib it to me.”

“Perfessor Green Trapps will now advance wid de obscribe!” Hitch commanded.

Thereupon, Green rose from a chair near the pulpit and walked to the little table. He took from his pocket a square of sheepskin, spread it out before him, and flattened it out by piling a handful of silver around the edges. Then he fitted his gold spectacles to his pop eyes, unscrewed the top of a fountain pen and sat down.

There was a slight commotion at the door, but Green did not notice it. There was a scrouging of people who stood in the aisle in order that two distinguished white men might pass, but Green Trapps did not notice that. Green looked up just as the two white men stood at the pulpit railing almost within reach of his hand. Then his startled eyes gazed down into the faces of Dr. Gilbo, president of the Silliway Female Institute, and Dr. Sentelle.

“Gawdlemighty!” Green gasped. He sprang from his chair and sent that piece of furniture whirling across the platform. With four gigantic leaps he covered the space between himself and the nearest window, and he went through that window, splashing the crowd out of his way in his exit like a brickbat dropped in a puddle of black mud.

The people were dazed by this sudden departure of Trapps, and they waited breathlessly for what might happen next. Dr. Gilbo strode upon the pulpit platform and stopped at the table where Green had been sitting. With a snort of indignation, he realized that his servant, Green Trapps, had stolen one of his college graduate diplomas, and was just about to fill it out with the name of Vinegar Atts.

Dr. Gilbo turned and addressed the audience:

“My colored friends, I regret to inform you that Green Trapps is a fraud and impostor, also a liar and a thief. He persuaded you to raise a sum of money to purchase from him an honorary degree from the Silliway Female Institute which he had no right or power to bestow. This college, of which I am president, does not grant honorary degrees, and if it did, we would not sell such an honor under any circumstances or at any price. I think you should congratulate yourselves upon my arrival just in time to thwart the nefarious designs of Green Trapps. He was endeavoring to secure money under false pretenses, and if I remain in my present state of righteous indignation, I shall have him prosecuted under the law.”

Then Dr. Gilbo stalked off the platform and sat down.

“Beg parding, boss,” Hitch Diamond mumbled. “Does I gather from dem remarks of yourn dat Brudder Vinegar Atts don’t git no D?”

“He does not from the Silliway Female Institute,” Dr. Gilbo answered.

“Dat’s too bad,” Hitch Diamond rumbled, scratching his head and wondering what to do next.

At this point, Skeeter Butts, who was sitting in the choir, rose and said:

“Brudder Hitchie, I moves dat de twenty-five dollars dat Green Trapps didn’t git be give to Elder Vinegar Atts to buy a pulpit chair an’ a ’lectric readin’ lamp.”

“I seconts dat motion,” Pap Curtain snarled. “Dat’ll let Vinegar down kinder easy an’ won’t hurt his feelin’s so much.”

When Hitch Diamond put the question, the motion was carried with a whoop and everybody was in a good humor again.

“Less sing our lodge song fer de closin’ exercises, brudders,” Hitch bellowed. “Eve’ybody sing!”

In this mighty chorus, Dr. Sentelle missed a voice that he loved—the superb baritone of Vinegar Atts. That voice, like the tones of a great pipe-organ, was the joy and pride of Tickfall. Now it was silent.

Dr. Sentelle turned and looked at Vinegar. The pastor of the Shoofly church sat huddled in a heap in his broken-bottomed pulpit chair, looking like a big, fat dumpling soaked in gravy. His simple, childish, baby face was puckered and drawn with sad lines until he looked like a big fat baby just tuning up to cry.

In fact, Vinegar was completely crushed. He had set his heart upon that meaningless piece of parchment and that sham degree, and the loss to him was overwhelming. The pathos of ignorance lies here, that the untaught covet above everything the tinsel and feathers and adornments of knowledge.

Still Vinegar’s superb voice was silent, and Dr. Sentelle felt a sense of loss and dissatisfaction. The music was not complete.

Then something happened which explains why all Tickfall, white and black, loved Dr. Sentelle almost to adoration.

Suddenly an idea burst like an opening blossom in the scholar’s brain, and brought forth its fruit of kindly and gracious service. He rose to his feet, leaning his frail body heavily upon his ponderous cane for support, and held up a thin, blue-veined, delicate hand for silence. The singing stopped.

“My friends,” he began in a voice so thrillingly sweet and musical that every word was like a caress, “for over thirty years your pastor, Vinegar Atts, and I have been the only preachers in Tickfall. He and I have spent many an hour in that time discussing together the problems which concern both the white and the black people of Tickfall. While the days have been going by, Vinegar has added much to my joy of living, and I am sure that he has never robbed you of any happiness.”

“Dat’s right!” a dozen voices murmured.

“I have always tried to stand between you colored people and any kind of harm, and it pleases me tonight that I have been instrumental in preventing you from paying something for nothing—absolutely nothing!”

“Thank ’e, suh!” several voices spoke.

“Nevertheless, I believe that Vinegar Atts very richly deserves the one D which you in your kindness were trying to purchase for him.”

“Hear dat, now!”

“The word ‘doctor’ is an academic title, originally meaning a man so well versed in his department as to be qualified to teach it. I knew Vinegar Atts years ago as a prize-fighter, and I have seen him fight; and I assure you that in the department of pugilistic activity, Vinegar is well enough versed in the manly art of self-defense to know how to teach it!”

“Now you done said a plum’ mouthful!” Hitch Diamond, the Tickfall Tiger, howled. “Elder Atts teached me all I know ’bout fightin’!”

“Thirty years have passed since Vinegar became the pastor of the Shoofly church. In that time, negro preachers have come and gone through the other negro churches in this parish like a Mardi Gras procession, but Vinegar holds on to his job. It is my conviction that a man so endowed with the gift of continuance possesses the supreme art of pleasing all the people all the time, and should be qualified to teach that art to others.”

“Listen to dat white man!” a chorus of voices mumbled in admiration.

“I therefore believe that Vinegar Atts richly deserves the title of doctor, and I therefore greet him as a fellow clergyman with his honorary entitlements: ‘Dr. Vinegar Atts.’”

Vinegar was not slumped down in his chair now. He was sitting up in his broken-bottomed chair, his backbone as stiff as if he had swallowed a ramrod. Dr. Sentelle walked over and held out his hand. Vinegar sprang up with a half sob and seized that fragile white hand in his gorilla-like black paw.

There was a shout from that congregation which nearly lifted the roof off the church.

Then Dr. Gilbo was suddenly galvanized into action. He sprang up from his seat and knocked his hat on the floor. He jerked his hands in and out of his pockets, seeking for something, and in his eagerness he spilled something out of each pocket.

Suddenly he found what he wanted and held it up—a little square box, such as jewelers use. Taking the top from the box, he brought out a small gold medal about the size of a postage stamp, and almost as thin.

“My colored friends,” Dr. Gilbo announced in a shrill, high voice. “This gold medal which you behold is bestowed upon the deserving pupils of the Silliway Female Institute as a reward of merit. At our graduating exercises last June twenty-five of these medals were given away, but it happened that no pupil earned the one which I hold in my hand. It is now my pleasure to confer this medal on Dr. Vinegar Atts!”

When Dr. Gilbo walked across the platform and pinned his medal upon the lapel of Vinegar’s long-tailed preaching-coat, there is no language to describe the whoop of adulation which sprang from the throats of that delighted audience.

Vinegar Atts sat down and wiped the tears from his eyes upon his coat sleeve.

“Us would like to hear a speech from de Revun Dr. Vinegar Atts!” Hitch Diamond bellowed.

The prince of platform spellbinders stood up and made a speech of two words, but in the intonation of those two words he comprised all that a negro can express of eloquent gratitude:

“Bless Gawd!”

He sat down for the last time in his broken pulpit chair, and his powerful shoulders quivered with emotion. The next day he put a new chair in its place, adorned his pulpit with an electric reading lamp, and recovered his gift of gab.

“Lodge brudders, attention!” Hitch Diamond bellowed. “Give de good-night salute an’ sing de last verse!”

The men folded their hands over their breasts and their superb voices chanted:

Dr. Sentelle listened and smiled. The music was complete.

He reflected that he had never heard Dr. Vinegar Atts sing so well.