st startled, on her return, to
find the two men discussing an alien theme. More surprising still,
instead of sulking over the curtailment of the dear privilege of
self-dissection, Joel was plainly interested.

"It's one of the games where you can't lose, if you take their word for
it," Thomas was explaining to his absorbed listener. "The company
begins to pay you int'rest on your investment just as soon as you hand
over the money, six per cent. every year up to the time the orchard
gets to bearing. Then it goes up little by little, and by the tenth
year they guarantee you twenty-five per cent. Even that doesn't cover
it. They say that orchard owners in the same locality are making as
much as a hundred per cent. most years. Anybody who could spare a few
thousand would be sure of a good income for the rest of his days."

"But there's the off years," objected Joel, a crackle of greed in his
high-pitched voice.

"There's not going to be any off years the way those fellows figure.
They say that by thinning out the apples when the yield is heavy, they
can be sure of a crop every season." Thomas' gaze wandered to Persis
who had resumed her seat and taken up her sewing. "We're talking of a
chance to put your money where it'll get more than savings bank
int'rest," he said, resolved that Joel should not monopolize every
topic of conversation. "The Apple of Eden Investment Company, they
call it."

"I heard you say something about twenty-five per cent," returned
Persis, sewing placidly. "'Most _too_ good to please me."

"Now if that ain't a woman all over," Joel interjected excitedly. "The
toe of a stocking is a good enough bank for any of 'em, and as for
using foresight and putting a little capital where it'll bring in an
income for your old age, you'd think to hear 'em talk, that such a
thing was never heard tell of. If I'd had the handling of the money
that's come into this house for the last twenty years, we'd have been
on Easy Street by now. But Persis has the kind of setness that doesn't
take no account of reason. And as the poet says:

"'He is a fool who thinks by force or skill
To turn the current of a woman's will.'"

Thomas, purpling with resentment, addressed his next remark to Persis.
"I don't s'pose our folks would take so much stock in all these fine
promises if there wasn't a Clematis boy secretary of the company. I
guess you remember him, Persis. Ware, his name was. Justin Ware."

"Y