Mrs. Grey was a picture of the most emphatic surprise, and Mr. Cresswell
moved to the window. Mrs. Grey looked helplessly at her companions.

"But--I don't understand, Miss Smith--why can't you accept my offer?"

"Because you ask me to put my school in control of those who do not wish
for the best interests of black folk, and in particular I object to Mr.
Cresswell," said Miss Smith, slowly but very distinctly, "because his
relation to the forces of evil in this community has been such that he
can direct no school of mine." Mrs. Vanderpool moved toward the door and
Mr. Cresswell bowing slightly followed. Dr. Boldish looked indignant and
Mr. Bocombe dove after his note-book. Mary Taylor, her head in a whirl,
came forward. She felt that in some way she was responsible for this
dreadful situation and she wanted desperately to save matters from final
disaster.

"Come," she said, "Mrs. Grey, we'll talk this matter over again later. I
am sure Miss Smith does not mean quite all she says--she is tired and
nervous. You join the others and don't wait for me and I will be along
directly."

Mrs. Grey was only too glad to escape and Mr. Bocombe got a chance to
talk. He drew out his note-book.

"Awfully interesting," he said, "awfully. Now--er--let's see--oh, yes.
Did you notice how unhealthy the children looked? Race is undoubtedly
dying out; fact. No hope. Weak. No spontaneity either--rather languid,
did you notice? Yes, and their heads--small and narrow--no brain
capacity. They can't concentrate; notice how some slept when Dr. Boldish