"That's a good title, and should take if anything will," she said, a little more serious now than before. She did not impress Wyeth as being much of a literary person, as he now observed her. For a moment, he felt the interest wane, that he had experienced the moment she came up. She was speaking. "I sold books one summer, 'Up From Bondage,' by the greatest Negro the race has ever known, and I had a time! I never want such another experience! They told me a thousand lies, and had me trotting after them all summer," whereupon, she shrugged her shoulders disgustedly. "Well," said he, "I'm confident there are people, and plenty, who _do_ care to read, and will likewise buy when the book is properly presented. So, of course, the duty of a distributer, will be to find these people, and it is for this purpose, I am here. I do not, of course, know what kind of a black population you have; but it is reasonable to suppose that, if I could and did, personally sell twelve hundred copies in Attalia in a matter of five months, I should be able to find a few readers here. Do you not agree with me?" "Oh, of course," said she; "but you cannot as yet appreciate the fact that Effingham has the orneriest Negroes in the world. I am frank when I say that I do not have any confidence in them, but wait," she admonished, "you'll find out." They sat together now, and conversed on topics otherwise than books and literature, which he observed, could be engaged in with more success. Moreover, as the minutes wore on, he also came to see that Miss Palmer was somewhat sentimental. She smiled freely, moved close at times, and then away, artfully; saw him at moments out of liquid eyes, and said her words with a coquetishness that came by careful practice. And so, Sidney Wyeth, a man free to practice the arts of coquetry--if a man may do so--accepted Miss Palmer's attention, and to that end he soon became a friend. When he departed that evening, she had taken the agency, and had agreed to go with him on the morrow. That night it rained, a heavy rain, and when he went forth the following morning, the streets were heavy with mud wherever there was no paving--which was, in this part of town, almost everywhere. Moreover, it showed signs of raining more. It had been one of the dryest springs the south had ever seen, and it was now probable that the deficiency in rainfall would be eradicated by an excess in moisture. Wyeth, however, was impatient to begin as soon as possible. He wished to ascertain to what extent intelligence and regard for higher morals was prevalent in this town. Miss Palmer was not ready when he arrived, and it was two hours before she was. "Thought since it rained," she explained, "that you would not, perhaps, go out today." "Won't know the difference this time next year," he jested, with a cheerful smile, nevertheless, surveying the threatening elements anxiously.