It did seem impossible. The bank which held the mortgage on the old church declared that the interest was considerably in arrears, and the real estate people said flatly that the land across the river was being held for an eventual development for white working people who were coming in, and that none would be sold to colored folk. When it was proposed to rebuild the church, Wilson found that the terms for a new mortgage were very high. He was sure that he could do better if he went to Atlanta to get the deal financed.

But when this proposal was made to his Deacon Board, he met unanimous opposition. The church certainly would not be removed. The very proposition was sacrilege. It had been here fifty years. It was going to stay forever. It was hardly possible to get any argument on the subject. As for rebuilding, well, that might be looked into, but there was no hurry, no hurry at all.

Wilson again went downtown to a different banker, an intelligent young white man who seemed rather sympathetic, but he shook his head.

``Reverend,'' he said, ``I think you don't quite understand the situation here. Don't you see the amount of money that has been invested by whites around that church? Tenements, stores, saloons, some gambling, I hope not too much. The colored people are getting employment at Kent House and other places, and they are near their places of employment. When a city has arranged things like this you cannot easily change them. Now, if I were you I would just plan to repair the old church so it would last for five or ten years. By that time, perhaps something better can be done.''