Of late he had been displaying a hankering for negro politics. A few weeks before he had created a sensation by applying to the clerk of the court for a license to marry his mulatto housekeeper. It was common report that this woman was the mother of a beautiful octoroon daughter with hair exactly the color of old Peeler's. Few people had seen her. She had been away at school since her tenth year.
The young editor suddenly wheeled in his chair and spoke with quick emphasis:
The visitor's face lighted with a maudlin attempt at politeness:
"Yes, sir; yes, sir!--and I'm shore glad to meet you, Major Norton!"
He came forward briskly, extending his fat mottled hand.
Norton quietly ignored the offer by placing a chair beside his desk:
"I want to ask your advice, major, about a little secret matter"--he glanced toward the door leading into the reporters' room.
The editor rose, closed the door and resumed his seat:
The visitor fumbled in his coat pocket and drew out a crumpled piece of paper which he fingered gingerly:
"I've been readin' your editorials agin' secret societies, major, and I like 'em--that's why I made up my mind to put my trust in you----"
"Why, I thought you were a member of the Loyal Black League, Mr. Peeler?"
"No, sir--it's a mistake, sir," was the smooth lying answer. "I hain't got nothin' to do with no secret society. I hate 'em all--just run your eye over that, major."
He extended the crumpled piece of paper on which was scrawled in boyish writing:
"We hear you want to marry a nigger. Our advice is to leave this country for the more congenial climate of Africa.
"By order of the Grand Cyclops, KU KLUX KLAN."
The young editor studied the scrawl in surprise:
"A silly prank of schoolboys!" he said at length.
"You think that's all?" Peeler asked dubiously.
"Certainly. The Ku Klux Klan have more important tasks on hand just now. No man in their authority sent that to you. Their orders are sealed in red ink with a crossbones and skull. I've seen several of them. Pay no attention to this--it's a fake."
"I don't think so, major--just wait a minute, I'll show you something worse than a red-ink crossbones and skull."
Old Peeler tipped to the door leading into the hallway, opened it, peered out and waved his fat hand, beckoning someone to enter.