"They come to this country without knowing a word of our language, and from a poor country. But they are not here ten years, before they are able, financially, to buy a car load of our people. Negroes are certainly a problem to themselves. These foreigners always have money, and many of them return to the old country and retire, after a few years of just ordinary hard work here; while many of our people at the same job, if they get sick a week, are on the county. "Clerking in a store where the trade is of the kind we have," he went on, "is an opportunity for the best study in human nature you can possibly imagine. A man like Smith, for instance, can succeed with the trade of his people, when he can get it. Smith has succeeded on the heels of his own failure." "It appears harder for one of us to succeed, than for any other race now, doesn't it?" commented Wyeth. "It does, it does indeed," said Beasely. "Somehow the money gets through our fingers, despite our efforts to hold it." "This morning," said Sidney, "I had an experience that amused me. I had the promise to take a book to a certain fellow in Averytown. I called accordingly with the same, but he had just left. His family didn't, rather couldn't tell me where I was likely to find him. I came on up the street that leads here, and made inquiries on the way. Every one who knew him gave me the same advice. 'If,' they said, 'he is not home, just go to every saloon between here and there, and you will be sure to find him.' I did so, and found him at the second one." "And did he take it?" asked Beasely. "Oh, I hadn't thought of it since. No, he didn't take the book--but I think he will. He had no money, and when I approached him he went to the commissary, took a scrip and got some groceries. These he took to somebody and sold them, a dollar and a half worth for a dollar. He then gave me a quarter, and told me to bring it next pay day." After a moment he said: "Smith is an exceptional business man for a Negro, and an interesting man to talk to." "Yes," smiled the other; "but Smith is not his real name. He took that after coming here. And since we have spoken of it, I'm going to tell you the story of John Smith, alias Thomas Rollins." He laughed as his voice, very dramatic in what he had just said, came back to him. The other listened, and prepared himself to do so comfortably, while Beasely mopped his forehead, drew his breath, and prepared to tell the following story. Beasely was a black man--a full blood--and intelligent. Nearly fifty years he seemed to be, although, at a passing glance, he would have passed for forty. He had been a school teacher, and had some education, Wyeth had observed from his careful use of English.