It required perhaps four seconds for the merchant to stop his speculations on what Peter had come for and adjust his mind to the question. "Why, yes, I suppose so," he agreed, very much at sea. "I--I never caught up with her." He laughed a pleasant, puzzled laugh. "Of course she doesn't come around and show me what she's making off with. Why?" "Well, it's this. Wouldn't you prefer to give your cook a certain cash payment instead of having her taking uncertain amounts of your foodstuffs and wearing apparel?" The merchant leaned forward in his chair. "Did old Becky Davis send you to me with any such proposition as that, Peter?" "No, not at all. But, Mr. Killibrew, wouldn't you like better and more trustworthy servants as cooks, as farm-hands, chauffeurs, stable-boys? You see, you and your children and your children's children are going to have to depend on negro labor, as far as we can see, to the end of time." "We-e-ell, yes," admitted Mr. Killibrew, who was not accustomed to considering the end of time. "Wouldn't it be better to have honest, self-respecting help than dishonest help?" "Certainly." "Then let's think about cooks. How can one hope to rear an honest, self- respecting citizenry as long as the mothers of the race are compelled to resort to thievery to patch out an insufficient wage?" "Why, I don't suppose niggers ever will be honest," admitted the grocer, very frankly. "You naturally don't trust a nigger. If you credit one for a dime, the next time he has any money he'll go trade somewhere else." The grocer broke into his contagious laugh. "Do you know how I've built up my business here, Peter? By never trusting a nigger." Mr. Killibrew continued his pleased chuckle. "Yes, I get the whole cash trade of the niggers in Hooker's Bend by never cheating one and never trusting one." The grocer leaned back in his squeaking chair and looked out through the glass partition, over the brightly colored packages that lined his shelves from floor to ceiling. All that prosperity had come about through a policy of honesty and distrust. It was something to be proud of. "Now, let me see," he proceeded, recurring pleasantly to what he recalled of Peter's original proposition: "Aunt Becky sent you here to tell me if I'd raise her pay, she'd stop stealin' and--and raise some honest children." Mr. Killibrew threw back his head broke into loud, jelly-like laughter. "Why, don't you know, Peter, she's an old liar. If I gave her a hundred a week, she'd steal. And children! Why, the old humbug! She's too old; she's had her crop. And, besides all that, I don't mind what the old woman takes. It isn't much. She's a good old darky, faithful as a dog." He arose from his swivel-chair briskly and floated Peter out before him. "Tell her, if she wants a raise," he concluded heartily, "and can't pinch enough out of my kitchen and the two dollars I pay her--tell her to come to me, straight out, and I'll give her more, and she can pinch more."