The house in town stood by itself at the dead end of its own little road, because of the extra land Felix had bought around it for his pride after marrying Nell. The town had of necessity grown in the other direction. Although the bank posted it for sale, there was no buyer for more than a year. No one appeared to want it, or if they did, to have money enough for such a purchase. Then one afternoon after a long, solemn conference with Woodrow Saxon, the bank president, Roscoe indicated cautious willingness to buy the property. Mr. Saxon, who had increasing reason to value Roscoe Elk as a client, then took the matter up with Leon and Felix and Nell. Leon was vehemently against the sale, but Felix said that attitude was all pride and prejudice, and Nell said they could not afford to pass over such an offer. The truth was, too, that neither Felix nor Nell had any great affection for the place. Their marriage had been successful in its way, but they had not had children, the memory of whose growing up might have given the old house a warmer identity for them. So it was sold, along with the furnishings Nell had decided to abandon. The money from the sale, or rather, the sounder credit it gave them with the bank, made Beulah Land that much more secure from failure during its second year of hard times.

Although he intended to live in it with his family, Roscoe took his time about it. First, he allowed the town to become accustomed to the fact that he owned the property. He even suggested to Mr. Saxon that he might be willing to resell the place if a suitable and sound buyer came forward. None did, although Mr. Saxon dutifully made currency of Roscoe’s offer to sell, which was all Roscoe had wanted him to do anyway.

The new owner neglected the place deliberately. Grass and weeds took over the garden. The screws on the hinges of two front windows were loosened, so that the shutters were left sagging. A fence post rotted and went unrepaired. The brick walkway from the front gate to the doorsteps began to crumble. As deterioration became obvious, boys crept through high Jimson weeds, pretending to trail hostile Indians, and broke window glass with pebbles from their slingshots. The fact that the house was not lived in, added to the fact that it was owned by a Negro, diminished its importance. What is unwanted is unvalued. Just before the place could look derelict, Roscoe set about making repairs, and moved his family into it from what had been the Anderson farm. Even the Elks’ moving in was done with a small touch that disarmed any disapproval there might have been.