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Killibrew's attitude on the race question turned on how to hold the negro patronage of the village to his grocery. It was not an abstract question at all, but a concrete fact, which he had worked out to his own satisfaction. With Mr. Killibrew, with all Hooker's Bend, there was no negro question.
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.
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.
"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." Mr. Killibrew moved down the aisle of his store between fragrant barrels and boxes, laughing mellowly at old Aunt Becky's ruse, as he saw it.
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.
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."
A little later Peter entered a big, rather clean store which smelled of spices, coffee, and a faint dash of decayed potatoes. Mr. Killibrew himself, a big, rotund man, with a round head of prematurely white hair, was visible in a little glass office at the end of his store. Even through the glazed partition Peter could see Mr. Killibrew smiling as he sat comfortably at his desk.
At the conclusion of the Killibrew interview Peter instinctively felt that he had just about touched the norm of Hooker's Bend. The village might contain men who would dive a little deeper into the race question with Peter; assuredly, there would be hundreds who would not dive so deep. Mr.
"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.
"Not that at all, Mr. Killibrew. It's a question of the white race and the black race. The particular feature I am working on is the wages paid to cooks." "I didn't know you were a cook," interjected the grocer in surprise. "I am not." Mr. Killibrew looked at Peter, thought intensely for a few moments, and came to an unescapable conclusion.
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