dy but me, I mean, and even I never had
but half a chance. You make a mistake, I tell you. There's lots of good
folks in this town, lots of 'em. Cap'n Elisha Warren's one of 'em and
there's plenty more. They're countrymen, same as I am, but they're good,
plain, sensible folks, and they'd like to like you if they had a chance.
You belong to the Town Improvement Society, but you never go to a
meeting. You ought to get out and mix more."

I shrugged my shoulders. "I guess my mixing wouldn't be very welcome," I
said. "And, besides, I don't care to mix."

"I know you don't, but you ought to, just the same."

"Nonsense! George, I'm not blind, or deaf. Don't you suppose I know what
Warren and Dean and the rest think of me? They consider me a loafer and
no good. I've heard what they say. I've noticed how they treat me."

"How you treat them, you mean. You are as cold and freezing as a cake
of ice. They was willing to be friends but you wouldn't have it. And,
as for their calling you a loafer--well, that's your own fault, too.
You OUGHT to do something; not work, perhaps, but you'd be a whole lot
better off if you got really interested in something. Get into politics;
get into town affairs; get out and know the people you're living with."

"I don't care to know them; and I'm sure they don't care to know me."

"Yes, they do. I understand how you feel. In this Shore Lane matter now:
you think Cap'n Jed and Colton, because they pretend to call you a fool,
don't respect you for taking the stand you have. They do. They don't
understand you, maybe, but they can't help respecting you and, if they
knew you even as well as I do, they'd like you. Come! I ain't throwin'
any bouquets, but why do you suppose I'd be willing to drive to West
Denboro forty times over, on forty times worse nights than this, for
you? Why?"

"Heaven knows! Would you?"

"I would. I like you, Ros. I took a shine to you the first time I met
you. I don't know why exactly. Why does anybody like anybody else? But I
think a whole lot of you. I know this sounds foolish, and you don't feel
that way towards me, but it's the truth."

I was amazed. I had always liked George Taylor, but I never felt any
strong affection for him. I was a little less indifferent to him than to
others in Denboro, that was all. And I had taken it for granted that
his liking for me was of the same casual, lukewarm variety. To hear him
declare himself in this way was astonishing--he, the dr