hat you're driving at. Let's hear."

Mr. Stamps's pale eyes fixed themselves with interest on his angry face.
He had seated himself in his chair again, and he watched Tom closely as
he rambled on in his simple, uncomplaining way.

"Ye're fond o' laughin' at me round yere at the store, Tom," he remarked,
"an' I ain't agin it. A man don't make nothin' much by bein' laughed at,
I rekin, but he don't lose nothin' nuther, an' that's what I _am_ agin. I
rekin ye laugh 'cos I kinder look like a fool--an' I hain't nothin' agin
thet, nuther, Lord! not by a heap. A man ain't a-gwine to lose nothin' by
lookin' like a fool. I hain't never, not a cent, Tom. But I ain't es big
a fool es I look, an' I don't 'low ye air, uther. Thar's whar I argy
from. Ye ain't es big a fool as ye look, an' ye'd be in a bad fix ef ye
was."

"Go on," ordered Tom, "and leave me out."

"I cayn't leave ye out, Tom," said Mr. Stamps, "fer ye're in. Ye'd be as
big a fool as ye look ef ye was doin' all this yere fer nothin'."

"All what?" demanded Tom.

"Gals," suggested Mr. Stamps, "is plenty. An' ef ye take to raisin' 'em
as this un's ben raised, ye ain't makin' much; an' ef thar ain't nothin'
to be made, Tom, what's yer aim?"

He put it as if it was a conundrum without an answer.

"What's yer aim, Tom?" he repeated, pleasantly, "ef thar ain't nothin' to
be made?"

Tom's honest face flamed into red which was almost purple, the veins
swelled on his forehead, his indignation almost deprived him of his
breath. He fell into a chair with a concussion which shook the building.

"Good--good Lord!" he exclaimed; "how I wish you weighed five hundred
pounds."

It is quite certain that if Stamps had, he would have demolished him
utterly upon the spot, leaving him in such a condition that his remains
would hardly have been a source of consolation to his friends. He pointed
to the door.

"If you want to get out," he said, "start. This is getting the better of
me--and if it does----"

Mr. Stamps rose.

"Ye wouldn't do a dern thing, Tom," he said, peaceably, "not a dern
thing."

He sidled towards the door, and reaching it, paused to reflect, shaking
his head.

"Ef thar ain't nothin' to be made," he said, "ye'v got ter hev a aim, an'
what is it?"

Observing that Tom made a move in his chair, he slipped through the doorway
rather hurriedly. Sheba thought he was gone, but a moment later the door
re-opened and he thrust his head in and spoke, not intrus