had a little disagreement as to price, but," with a grin, "I met his
figures and we closed the deal. Aren't you going to congratulate him
on having come to his senses at last? Come! he's waiting for
congratulations."

This was not true. I was waiting for nothing; I was on my way to the
door. But, to reach it I was obliged to pass her and our eyes met. My
glance wavered, I know, but hers did not. For a moment she looked at me.
Then she smiled. Whenever I am tempted to be vain, even now, I remember
that smile.

"I congratulate him," she said. "Come, Father; you must go to bed now."

CHAPTER XVII

I am not going to attempt a description of my thoughts that night.
It would take too long and the description would be wearisome. Other
people's miseries are not interesting and I shall not catalog mine.
Morning came at last and I rose, bathed my hot face in cold water, and
went down stairs. Early as it was, not yet six, I heard Dorinda in the
kitchen and, having no desire for conversation, I went out and walked up
and down the beach until breakfast time. I had to pretend to eat, but
I ate so little that both Lute and Dorinda once more commented upon
my lack of appetite. Lute, who had never become fully reconciled to my
becoming a member of the working class, hastened to lay the blame for my
condition upon my labors at the bank.

"The trouble is," he announced, dogmatically, "the trouble is, Roscoe,
that you ain't fitted for bein' shut up astern of a deck. Look at
yourself now! Just go into Comfort's room and stand in front of her
lookin' glass and look at yourself. There you be, pale and peaked and
wore out. Look for all the world just as I done when I had the tonsils
two winters ago. Ain't that so, Dorindy?"

His wife's answer was a contemptuous sniff.

"If you mean to say that you looked peaked when you had sore throat,"
she announced, "then there's somethin' the matter with your mind or your
eyesight, one or t'other. You peaked? Why, your face was swelled up
like a young one's balloon Fourth of July Day. And as for bein' pale! My
soul! I give you my word I couldn't scurcely tell where your neck left
off and the strip of red flannel you made me tie 'round it begun."

"Don't make no difference! I FELT pale, anyhow. And I didn't eat no
more'n Ros does. You'll have to give in to that, Dorindy. I didn't eat
nothin' but beef tea and gruel."

"You et enough of them to float a schooner."

"Maybe I did," with griev