re-entered the sitting
room, and when she did so there was a puzzled expression on her face.

"Now, that's funny," she observed, musingly; "that certainly is funny.
What is he drivin' at, I wonder?"

"Mr. Pulcifer?" inquired Galusha.

"Why, yes. He didn't say so in so many words; in fact, he didn't really
say much of anything right out. He wouldn't be Raish Pulcifer if he was
straight and plain. He talked about the weather and how he hadn't seen
me for some time and just thought he'd call, and so on. That was just
greasin' the ways for the launchin', as father would have said. He edged
around and edged around and finally brought up the thing I'm pretty sure
he came to see me about, my two hundred and fifty shares of Wellmouth
Development Company stock."

Galusha caught his breath. "Eh?" he exclaimed.

"Yes; I think he came to see me about just those shares. Of course, he
thinks I've still got them. He talked about his own shares and about the
company in general and how it wasn't likely to amount to much and--oh,
well, never mind; he talked a mile before he gained a foot. But I think,
Mr. Bangs, I THINK he came to see if I would sell him that stock of
mine, and, if I would, what I would sell it for. Considerin' that only a
little while ago he told you he wouldn't touch the Wellmouth Development
stock with a ten-foot pole, that's kind of funny, isn't it?"

CHAPTER XVII

Galusha had some difficulty in falling asleep that night. The habit of
dropping into a peaceful and dreamless slumber within five minutes after
blowing out his lamp, a habit which had been his for the past month, was
broken. He had almost succeeded in forgetting the Wellmouth Development
Company. His distress of mind and conscience concerning his dealings
with it had very nearly vanished also. He had been forced into deceit to
save Martha Phipps from great trouble, and the end justified the means.
Having reached that conclusion in his thinking, he had firmly resolved
to put the whole matter from his mind.

His one plunge into the pool of finance he had come to believe destined
never to be revealed. No one had mentioned the Development Company or
its stock for weeks. It was, apparently, dead and satisfactorily buried,
and the Bangs' secret was entombed with it.

And now, if Martha's surmise was correct, here was a "resurrection man,"
in the person of Mr. Horatio Pulcifer, hanging about the cemetery. The
capacity for hating was not in Galusha