“Now you’re talking like yourself,” Mr. Drury told him.  “Yes, that’s the Methodist theory.  For the fifty years of the old Freedmen’s Aid Society—­now the Board of Education for Negroes—­it has run these schools, eighteen of them now, with five thousand seven hundred and two earnest students enrolled, on a double theory.  The first part of the theory is that every child—­black, white, red or yellow—­ought to have all the education he can use.  Anything less than that would be as good as saying that America cares to develop its human resources only just so far, and not to the limit.  The other part of the theory is that the last person in the world to be put off with half an education is a preacher or a teacher.  The best is just good enough for all teachers, whether they teach from a desk or from a pulpit.”

“I guess that’s so too,” said J.W.  “You’re getting me interested.  Now go on and tell me some more.”

“The new pastor of Saint Marks told me,” said Mr. Drury, irrelevantly, “that they would be wanting some new roofing for the barn they’re turning into a community house.  I shouldn’t be surprised if you sold the church a nice little bill of goods.  And while you are at it, you might talk to the pastor—­Driver’s his name—­about this thing from his side of the road.  He knows more than I do.”

J.W. said he would.  And, though he would have meant it in any case, the hint about roofing made certain that “Elder” Driver would have a call in the morning from a rising young hardware salesman.

By this time they were at the Farwell gate, and J.W. said goodnight.  Mr. Drury walked home, but before he got ready for his beloved last hour of the day, with its easy chair and its cherished book, he called up his colored colleague, and they had a brief talk over the ’phone.

Now, Walter Drury had taken no one into his confidence about the Experiment, nor did he intend to; he had the best of reasons for keeping his own counsel, through the years.  So Elder Driver could not know the true inwardness of this telephone call; indeed, it was so casual that he did not even think to mention it to J.W. when that alert roofing specialist turned up next morning.

“I heard you were going to put new roofing on that barn you are fixing up, Mr. Driver, and I thought I might get your order for the job.  Maybe you know that we do a good deal of that sort of work, and we can give you expert service; the right roofing put on to stay, and to stay put.”

Yes, they were thinking of that roof; had to, because it leaked like a market basket, and they needed the place right now, what with the many colored Methodists who had come to town and had no home—­only rooms in the little houses of the colored settlement that had been too small for comfort even before the exodus.  But the place would be worth a lot to their work when they got it.

“About how much do you think of spending, Mr. Driver?” J.W. asked.  Knowing the limited means of Saint Marks, he expected to supply the cheapest roofing the Farwell Hardware Company had in stock, but Pastor Driver had a surprise for him.