It was Miss Palmer, who became at once a personal friend of Wyeth's, and who first told him of these conditions. From her, before he had time to observe of his own initiative, he also learned a great deal in regard to the black people. He was waiting on the porch for her when she returned late that afternoon, in fact, it was night when she arrived. She was tired, but cheerful and greatly encouraged. She had secured eleven orders for his book, and collected considerable more deposits in connection therewith. "I certainly did some talking to those Negroes this afternoon," she exclaimed, drawing herself upon the porch when she arrived. "I talked a blue streak; and believe me, one after another succumbed," she boasted. "You work too late," he said, with a note of kindness and admiration in his voice. "I do not usually work to exceed six hours a day, and quit by six at the latest," he added. "That's the trouble with Annie," said her cousin, and a teacher also. "She has so much ambition when she sees herself succeeding, that she invariably wears herself out." "Have you met my roomers?" Miss Palmer inquired. He shook his head and waited, while she, with much ostentation, introduced them one by one. "This is Mr. Jones, who carries mail upon a rural route; Mr. Farrell is a student at Tuskegee. He is spending his vacation in our city. And you have been talking with my cousin, Miss Black." Mr. Farrell was a small creature, so black in the darkness of the night, that only a gloomy outline of his features was discernable, while his white eyes reminded Sidney as he winked them, of a pair of lightning bugs on a warm June night. This was augmented by the occasional flash of his white teeth. He was studying architectural drawing. There was another student from the same school, a West Indian Negro, and who, like his kind, was always apparently desirous of learning, and asked Sidney many questions. Mr. Jones, who happened to be another cousin of Miss Palmer, and the aforementioned mail carrier, was a suave creature who read books, and discoursed with much practical intelligence. The following morning, Miss Palmer and Sidney were starting toward the car, on their way to canvass, when they stepped in a small drugstore conducted by a tall, slender man, of about thirty-five. Wyeth had been in the store two evenings before, or the day he arrived, and overheard a big argument. He had now come to know, that this was a place for warm debate, with the druggist ever conspicuous as one of the debaters.