Somebody said, "Excuse me, gentlemen. Is one of you Mister Buckhalter
Shannon?"
Shannon put his hands down on his belt. He closed his eyes and smiled
pleasantly and said, very gently:
"Would you be collecting for the feed bill, or the fuel?"
I shot a glance at the newcomer. He'd saved me from a beating, even if
he was a lousy bill-collecter; and I felt sorry for him. Bucky Shannon
settled his shoulders and hips like a dancer.
The stranger was a little guy. He even made me look big. He was dressed
in dark-green synthesilk, very conservative. There was a powdering of
grey in his hair and his skin was pink, soft, and shaved painfully
clean. He had the kind of a face that nice maiden-ladies will trust
with their last dime. I looked for his strong-arm squad.
There didn't seem to be any. The little guy looked at Shannon with pale
blue eyes like a baby, and his voice was softer than Bucky's.