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 planters, discuss crop conditions and banter jokes. Despite his erudition and the fact that he had espoused the profession of teaching he was still at heart a southern planter, revelling in the ways of the planter, talking cotton and corn and wheat and "nigger farm hands."

It was anticipation of this enjoyment that Professor Armstrong awoke, looked out of his window upon the day, and was glad. He was happy to whistling when taking his bath, whistling softly, however, so as not to disturb other sleepers. His toilet ended he descended to the piazza which stretched before the front of the hotel, surveyed the rows of empty chairs and stepped across the street to the various groups of farmers.

By some he was known and greeted familiarly, by others he was unknown till he made some comment on the weather, their crops or their equipage. The southern planter never stands on ceremony. Everyone speaks to everyone else and when once conversation was begun all barriers between men were down, and Professor Armstrong was soon the center of a laughing, handshaking jolly group of farmers.

After an hour or more spent in making the rounds of the courthouse, Professor Armstrong realized it was breakfast time and turned to the hotel dining room. He entered the room and was about to seat himself when his glance was directed across the room to one of the side tables where the pose of a diner presented a certain familiarity to him. He gazed for a moment, then exclaimed, under his breath, "Dr. Tansey. Well, well!" With that