One day he said admiringly to Jason: “They tell me that young Junior Moreland is pretty keen on a deal, but I’ll wager that he can’t beat you.” Jason laughed as he replied: “Junior will cut circles around me when it comes to accumulating money because I am forced to be honest and he is forced to be crooked.” Peter had a way of opening his mouth wide, and then setting the thumb and forefinger of his right hand immediately under his nose, he outlined the orifice. Slowly he indulged in this familiar practice. Finally, when his lips came together, he was looking at Jason, his head tilted to intensify his vision, speculation rampant in his eyes. “Jason,” he asked suddenly, “who taught you to be honest?” Jason considered his reply and then he said: “Outside of your grocery and what I learned at school, I can’t remember that any one ever taught me anything. Marcia never did, and when she let Martin Moreland beat me when I did not deserve beating, I began to feel that she was not even my mother.” Once again Peter outlined a circle back of which his tongue worked, and then he asked another leading question. “By what right did Martin Moreland come to your house and beat you?” Jason’s laugh was bitter, while his reply was: “By the right of riches; by superior strength, with the consent of the woman with whom I lived.” Peter thought this over. “I’ve known a few men in my time,” he said, “who were just naturally cruel; but Martin Moreland is just naturally a devil.” Jason assented, and then he asked his leading question of Peter. “I’ve been told,” he said, “that Becky Sampson goes into George Sand’s grocery, picks up whatever suits her fancy, and walks away, and that Martin Moreland foots her bills. Do you know whether that’s the truth?” “Come here a minute,” said Peter. Jason followed him to the back of the store. Out of a safe which was a part of the new building designed to do away with some of his trips to Bluffport, since Peter had no use for the village banker, he took one of the old ledgers he had brought back. He leafed over its pages until he came to one at the head of which was written, “Becky Sampson.” He showed Jason an account extending over years. He pointed to the foot of each page where the account was totalled and the total was carried over and added to the account of Martin Moreland. As Peter closed the ledger and returned it to the safety of the vault he said: “I lost a good deal of his business when my store got to its lowest point. I lost the rest of it when I took you in; but I’ve made so much more with your help that I don’t care. Martin Moreland always put my back up like a mad cat’s whenever he came near me, anyway.”