; with the younger man the symptoms were not so
acute.

"Well, Charlie," observed Mr. Winslow, on one occasion, a raw
November morning of the week before Thanksgiving, "how's the bank
gettin' along?"

Charles was a bit more silent that morning than he had been of
late. He appeared to be somewhat reflective, even somber. Jed, on
the lookout for just such symptoms, was trying to cheer him up.

"Oh, all right enough, I guess," was the reply.

"Like your work as well as ever, don't you?"

"Yes--oh, yes, I like it, what there is of it. It isn't what you'd
call strenuous."

"No, I presume likely not, but I shouldn't wonder if they gave you
somethin' more responsible some of these days. They know you're up
to doin' it; Cap'n Sam's told me so more'n once."

Here occurred one of the lapses just mentioned. Phillips said
nothing for a minute or more. Then he asked: "What sort of a man
is Captain Hunniwell?"

"Eh? What sort of a man? You ought to know him yourself pretty
well by this time. You see more of him every day than I do."

"I don't mean as a business man or anything like that. I mean what
sort of man is he--er--inside? Is he always as good-natured as he
seems? How is he around his own house? With his daughter--or--or
things like that? You've known him all your life, you know, and I
haven't."

"Um--ye-es--yes, I've known Sam for a good many years. He's square
all through, Sam is. Honest as the day is long and--"

Charles stirred uneasily. "I know that, of course," he interrupted.
"I wasn't questioning his honesty."

Jed's tender conscience registered a pang. The reference to
honesty had not been made with any ulterior motive.

"Sartin, sartin," he said; "I know you wasn't, Charlie, course I
know that. You wanted to know what sort of a man Sam was in his
family and such, I judge. Well, he's a mighty good father--almost
too good, I suppose likely some folks would say. He just bows down
and worships that daughter of his. Anything Maud wants that he can
give her she can have. And she wants a good deal, I will give in,"
he added, with his quiet drawl.

His caller did not speak. Jed whistled a few mournful bars and
sharpened a chisel on an oilstone.

"If John D. Vanderbilt should come around courtin' Maud," he went
on, after a moment, "I don't know as Sam would cal'late he was good
enough for her. Anyhow he'd feel that 'twas her that was doin' the
favor, not John D. . . . And I guess