's me. You needn't
stand there blinkin' like a fool any longer, Shavin's. It's me."

Jed set the lamp upon the table. He drew a long breath, apparently
of relief.

"Why, so 'tis," he said, solemnly. "When I first saw you sittin'
there, Phin, I had a suspicion 'twas you, but the longer I looked
the more I thought 'twas the President come to call. Do you know,"
he added, confidentially, "if you didn't have any whiskers and he
looked like you you'd be the very image of him."

This interesting piece of information was not received with
enthusiasm. Mr. Babbitt's sense of humor was not acutely
developed.

"Never mind the funny business, Shavin's," he snapped. "I didn't
come here to be funny to-night. Do you know why I came here to
talk to you?"

Jed pulled forward a chair and sat down.

"I presume likely you came here because you found the door
unlocked, Phin," he said.

"I didn't say HOW I came to come, but WHY I came. I knew where you
was this afternoon. I see you when you left there and I had a good
mind to cross over and say what I had to say before the whole crew,
Sam Hunniwell, and his stuck-up rattle-head of a daughter, and that
Armstrong bunch that think themselves so uppish, and all of 'em."

Mr. Winslow stirred uneasily in his chair. "Now, Phin," he
protested, "seems to me--"

But Babbitt was too excited to heed. His little eyes snapped and
his bristling beard quivered.

"You hold your horses, Shavin's," he ordered. "I didn't come here
to listen to you. I came because I had somethin' to say and when
I've said it I'm goin' and goin' quick. My boy's been home. You
knew that, I suppose, didn't you?"

Jed nodded. "Yes," he said, "I knew Leander'd come home for
Thanksgivin'."

"Oh, you did! He came here to this shop to see you, maybe? Humph!
I'll bet he did, the poor fool!"

Again Jed shifted his position. His hands clasped about his knee
and his foot lifted from the floor.

"There, there, Phin," he said gently; "after all, he's your only
son, you know."

"I know it. But he's a fool just the same."

"Now, Phin! The boy'll be goin' to war pretty soon, you know, and--"

Babbitt sprang to his feet. His chin trembled so that he could
scarcely speak.

"Shut up!" he snarled. "Don't let me hear you say that again, Jed
Winslow. Who sent him to war? Who filled his head full of rubbish
about patriotism, and duty to the country, and all the rest of the
rotten Wall Street stuff?