While, then, he hoped for high prices he
advised the Farmers' League to be on guard.
Mr. Caldwell seemed to be right, for cotton rose to ten cents a
pound--ten and a half--eleven--and then the South began to see visions
and to dream dreams.
"Yes, my dear," said Mr. Maxwell, whose lands lay next to the
Cresswells' on the northwest, "yes, if cotton goes to twelve or thirteen
cents as seems probable, I think we can begin the New House"--for Mrs.
Maxwell's cherished dream was a pillared mansion like the Cresswells'.
Mr. Tolliver looked at his house and barns. "Well, daughter, if this
crop sells at twelve cents, I'll be on my feet again, and I won't have
to sell that land to the nigger school after all. Once out of the
clutch of the Cresswells--well, I think we can have a coat of paint."
And he laughed as he had not laughed in ten years.
Down in the bottoms west of the swamp a man and woman were figuring
painfully on an old slate. He was light brown and she was yellow.
"Honey," he said tremblingly, "I b'lieve we can do it--if cotton goes to
twelve cents, we can pay the mortgage."
Two miles north of the school an old black woman was shouting and waving
her arms. "If cotton goes to twelve cents we can pay out and be free!"
and she threw her apron over her head and wept, gathering her children
in her arms.
Pages:
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205