"Not this time," John Mayrant said. "I wish to show our relics to this gentleman myself--if he will permit me?" This last was a question put to me with a courteous formality, a formality which a few minutes more were to see smashed to smithereens.
I told him that I should consider myself undeservedly privileged.
"Some of these people are my people," he said, beginning to move.
The old custodian stood smiling, familiar, respectful, disappointed. "Some of 'em my people, too, Mas' John," he cannily observed.
I put a little silver in his hand. "Didn't I see a box somewhere," I said, "with something on it about the restoration of the church?"
"Something on it, but nothing in it!" exclaimed Mayrant; at which moderate pleasantry the custodian broke into extreme African merriment and ambled a
