rection of the band stand.

"One thing," remarked Amanda, "he ain't much like his dad. You'd never
catch Isaac Worthington bein' that common."

Just then there came another interruption for William Wetherell, who was
startled by the sound of a voice in his ear--a nasal voice that awoke
unpleasant recollections. He turned to confront, within the distance of
eight inches, the face of Mr. Bijah Bixby of Clovelly screwed up into a
greeting. The storekeeper had met Mr. Bixby several times since that
first memorable meeting, and on each occasion, as now, his hand had made
an involuntary movement to his watch pocket.

"Hain't seed you for some time, Will," remarked Mr. Bixby; "goin' over to
the exercises? We'll move along that way," and he thrust his hand under
Mr. Wetherell's elbow. "Whar's Jethro?"

"He's here somewhere," answered the storekeeper, helplessly, moving along
in spite of himself.

"Keepin' out of sight, you understand," said Bijah, with a knowing wink,
as much as to say that Mr. Wetherell was by this time a past master in
Jethro tactics. Mr. Bixby could never disabuse his mind of a certain
interpretation which he put on the storekeeper's intimacy with Jethro.
"You done well to git in with him, Will. Didn't think you had it in you
when I first looked you over."

Mr. Wetherell wished to make an indignant denial, but he didn't know
exactly how to begin.

"Smartest man in the United States of America--guess you know that," Mr.
Bixby continued amiably. "They can't git at him unless he wants 'em to.
There's a railroad president at Isaac Worthington's who'd like to git at
him to-day,--guess you know that,--Steve Merrill."

Mr. Wetherell didn't know, but he was given no time to say so.

"Steve Merrill, of the Grand Gulf and Northern. He hain't here to see
Worthington; he's here to see Jethro, when Jethro's a mind to. Guess you
understand."

"I know nothing about it," answered Wetherell, shortly. Mr. Bixby gave
him a look of infinite admiration, as though he could not have pursued
any more admirable line.

"I know Steve Merrill better'n I know you," said Mr. Bixby, "and he knows
me. Whenever he sees me at the state capital he says, 'How be you, Bije?'
just as natural as if I was a railroad president, and slaps me on the
back. When be you goin' to the capital, Will? You'd ought to come down
and be thar with the boys on this Truro Bill. You could reach some on 'em
the rest of us couldn't git at."

William We