t of it he was polite, considerate and always
agreeable. During these first days Jed fancied that he detected in
the young man a certain alert dread, a sense of being on guard, a
reserve in the presence of strangers, but he was not sure that this
was anything more than fancy, a fancy inspired by the fact that he
knew the boy's secret and was on the lookout for something of the
sort. At all events no one else appeared to notice it and it
became more and more evident that Charlie, as nine-tenths of Orham
called him within a fortnight, was destined to be the favorite here
that, according to his sister, he had been everywhere else.

Of course there were a few who did not, or would not, like him.
Luther Small, the deposed bank clerk, was bitter in his sneers and
caustic in his comments. However, as Lute loudly declared that he
was just going to quit anyhow, that he wouldn't have worked for old
Hunniwell another week if he was paid a million a minute for it,
his hatred of his successor seemed rather unaccountable. Barzilla
Small, Luther's fond parent, also professed intense dislike for the
man now filling his son's position in the bank. "I don't know how
'tis," affirmed Barzilla, "but the fust time I see that young
upstart I says to myself: 'Young feller, you ain't my kind.' This
remark being repeated to Captain Sam, the latter observed: 'That's
gospel truth and thank the Lord for it.'"

Another person who refused to accept Phillips favorably was Phineas
Babbitt. Phineas's bitterness was not the sort to sweeten over
night. He disliked the new bank clerk and he told Jed Winslow why.
They met at the post office--Phineas had not visited the windmill
shop since the day when he received the telegram notifying him of
his son's enlistment--and some one of the group waiting for the
mail had happened to speak of Charlie Phillips. "He's a nice
obligin' young chap," said the speaker, Captain Jeremiah Burgess.
"I like him fust-rate; everybody does, I guess."

Mr. Babbitt, standing apart from the group, his bristling chin
beard moving as he chewed his eleven o'clock allowance of "Sailor's
Sweetheart," turned and snarled over his shoulder.

"I don't," he snapped.

His tone was so sharp and his utterance so unexpected that Captain
Jerry jumped.

"Land of Goshen! You bark like a dog with a sore throat," he
exclaimed. "Why don't you like him?"

"'Cause I don't, that's all."

"That ain't much of a reason, seems to me. Wh