anything, the majority of 'em, unless I say it first. _I_ put the notion
in George's head. He didn't know it, but I did. And I put it in the
directors' heads, too. Ros Paine, I always liked you, though I did use
to think you was a gentleman loafer. There was a somethin' about you
even then, a kind of hands-off, mind your own business independence
about you that I liked, though I knew mighty well you never liked me.
And after you and me got together on this Lane thing I liked you more
and more. You could tell me to go to the devil as well as you could
anybody else, and I'll shake hands with a feller that'll do that. I
always wanted a boy of my own. Nellie's a good girl, no better afloat or
ashore, but she is a girl. George is a good feller, too, but somehow,
or 'nother, I'd come to think of you as the kind of son I'd have had, if
the Almighty had give me one. Oh, what did you do this for?"

I could not answer. He had overwhelmed me. I never felt meaner or more
wicked. I had been ready to face him, ready for the interview with him
which I knew was inevitable and which I had foreseen, but not this kind
of an interview.

He took his hand from the table and stood erect.

"Money!" he said. "You wanted money. You must have wanted it bad. What
did you want it for?"

"I can't tell you."

"You had better. It's your only chance, I tell you that!"

"I can't help it, Captain Dean. I can't tell you. I wish I could."

He regarded me in silence for a moment. Then: "All right," he said,
solemnly. "I'm through with you, Ros Paine. In one way I'm through with
you. In another I ain't. I cal'late you was figgerin' to go straight up
to the bank, as bold as brass, and set down at George Taylor's desk and
draw your wages like an honest man. Don't you ever dare set foot in that
bank again. You're fired! bounced! kicked out! Do you understand?"

"Very well; I understand."

"You will understand, whether you do now or not. Colton's got the Shore
Lane and you've got his dirty money in your pocket. He's paid you, but
the town ain't. The town you sold out ain't paid you--but I'm goin' to
see that it does. Ros Paine, I'm goin' to drive you out of Denboro."

He turned on his heel, strode to the door, went out, and slammed it
behind him.

I went back to the dining-room. Lute was nowhere in sight, but Dorinda
was standing by the mantel, dusting, as usual, where there was no
dust. I did not speak but walked toward the door leading to the stai