here he comes now."

Warren came in, his face beaming, and gave the old man the money due
him. Uncle Buckley looked at him a moment, and then, with an air of
contrite acknowledgment, shook his head as he seriously remarked:

"I done you an injury jest now, by sorter questionin' whether you
wouldn't run off with that change, and I want to ask your pardon."

"Oh, that's all right," Warren laughed.

"No, it ain't all right, and I want to apologize right here in the
presence of----"

"All right, you may tie it on as a ribbon if you want to, but it isn't
necessary. Now you sit over here with me and tell me all about
yourself and your neighborhood, for I'm going to give you a write-up
that'll be a beauty to behold. You fellows go ahead with your nodding,
and don't pay any attention to us. But you want to listen. Come to my
sanctum, Mr. Lightfoot."

"I reckon it's safe," said the old man, following him. Caruthers
turned his slow eyes upon Lyman. "Has that old fellow got any money?"
he asked.

"Well, he's not a pauper."

"Suppose we could strike him for a hundred for six months?"

"No, he's a friend of mine."

"But," said Caruthers, "if we are going to raise money we'll have to
borrow from friends. Our enemies won't let us have it."

"That's true, but our enemies in protecting themselves should not be
permitted to drive us against our friends. That old man would let me
have every cent he has. But he has labored more than forty years for
his competence, and I will not rob him of a penny."

"Rob him," Caruthers spoke up with energy. "We'll pay him back."

"How?"

"Oh, you know how. With a little money we can get a start. We can
rent an office on the ground floor, and then business will come."

"Yes," said Lyman, "but I don't want that old man to be mixed up in
the excitement. Suppose we try the bank."

"You try it. McElwin does not care for me particularly. Suppose you go
over and see him. Offer him a mortgage on our library."

"I'll do it. Wait until Uncle Buckley has been pumped; I want to bid
him good-bye."

"Go through there, and see him on your way out. The bank will be
closed pretty soon."

"All right. But don't hang a hope on the result."

Lyman shook hands with Uncle Buckley, and then went across the street
to the First National Bank, the financial pride of Old Ebenezer. The
low brick building stood as a dollar mark, to be stared at by farmers
who had heard of the great piles of gold heaped there