In a certain little town of around three thousand Negro inhabitants, an empty handed but ambitious lad of nineteen or so, started a peanut and shinestand business. All odds, to begin with, were against this youthful merchan t. His peanuts had to be purchased in small lots and they were often stale when he finally had sale for them. This did not encourage the unfortunate buyer to stop that way again. His second-handed shine-stand was wobbly and made threatening sounds when ever any one sat on it. His little shop was just a hole, but because of its location, the rent was very dear and the landlord was deaf to excuses. Yes, he started with the odds against him. However, this chap was a spunky kind of fellow who took all of the rotten breaks for jokes and kept saying to himself that things would surely brighten up, and they did.

The peanut eaters of the town began to realize that even though stale, the peanuts bought at that little shop tasted better than those purchased elsewhere. Maybe it was the lad's cheery smile; or maybe it was his apparent indifference to hard times and bum breaks or perhaps "the brotherhood of man" spirit was creeping into the hearts of the passersby. Anyway, his peanut business began to pick up. Fastidious men and women noticed, at the same time, that his shine on their shoes were more brilliant and that the gloss lasted longer. So, despite protests from the wobbly old shine-chair, that groaned and creaked when one sat upon it, his shoe-shine business increased also.

Mr. X, reader of all Negro journals, Sunday School teacher and as he colossally described himself "a one hundred percent race man", noticed the long line of church goers waiting for shoe shines early one Sunday morning, as h e was on his way to teach his Bible class, he decided that he would stop in, on his way back. So, as he was getting his usual Sunday shine, he asked the lad about the general conditions of his business. Bubbling over boyish gless at his success, the lad answered, naming a small sum as his weekly profit.

Mr. X left the shop that morning, but on the following Monday, he did not stop in for his weekly bag of peanuts, nor did he get his Wednesday night shoe shine, in fact, he never came to the shop again. It was a mystery to the lad until a friend solved the problem of Mr. X's conduct by repeating a statement made by the "one hundred percent race man". "That boy is doing fine in business. Why he makes nearly as much as I do. Well, no more of my nickels will help to make hi m rich." And Mr. X was true to his vow.