Mr. Killibrew smiling as he sat comfortably at
his desk. Indeed, the grocer's chief assets were a really expansive
friendliness and a pleasant, easily provoked laughter.

He was fifty-two years old, and had been in the grocery business since
he was fifteen. He had never been to school at all, but had learned
bookkeeping, business mathematics, salesmanship, and the wisdom of the
market-place from his store, from other merchants, and from the drummers
who came every week with their samples and their worldly wisdom. These
drummers were, almost to a man, very sincere friends of Mr. Killibrew,
and not infrequently they would write the grocer from the city, or send
him telegrams, advising him to buy this or to unload that, according to
the exigencies of the market. As a result of this was very well off
indeed, and all because he was a friendly, agreeable sort of man.

The grocer heard Peter enter and started to come out of his office, when
Peter stopped him and asked if he might speak with him alone.

The white-haired man with the pink, good-natured face stood looking at
Peter with rather a questioning but pleasant expression.

"Why, certainly, certainly." He turned back to the swivel-chair at his
desk, seated himself, and twisted about on Peter as he entered. Mr.
Killibrew did not offer Peter a seat,--that would have been an
infraction of Hooker's Bend custom,--but he sat leaning back, evidently
making up his mind to refuse Peter credit, which he fancied the mulatto
would ask for and yet do it pleasantly.

"I was wondering, Mr. Killibrew," began Peter feeling his way along, "I
was wondering if you would mind talking over a little matter with me.
It's considered a delicate subject, I believe, but I thought a frank
talk would help."

During the natural pauses of Peter's explanation Mr. Killibrew kept up a
genial series of nods and ejaculations.

"Certainly, Peter. I don't see why, Peter. I'm sure it will help,
Peter."

"I'd like to talk frankly about the relations of our two races in the
South, in Hooker's Bend."

The grocer stopped his running accompaniment of affirmations and looked
steadfastly at Peter. Presently he seemed to solve some question and
broke into a pleasant laugh.

"Now, Peter, if this is some political shenanigan, I must tell you I'm a
Democrat. Besides that, I don't care a straw about politics. I vote, and
that's all."

Peter put down the suspicion that he was on a political errand.

"Not that