Strout looked down reflectively for a few minutes, then he glanced up and a queer smile passed over his face.  “S’posin’ I switch ’round,” said he, “and say I’ll work with yer?”

“If you say it and mean it, Mr. Strout,” replied Quincy, rising from his chair, “I’ll cross off the old score and start fresh from to-day.  I’m no Indian, and have no vindictive feelings.  You and I have been playing against each other and you’ve lost every trick.  Now, if you say so, we’ll play as partners.  I’ll give you a third interest in the grocery store for a thousand dollars.  The firm name shall be Strout & Maxwell.  I’ll put in another thousand dollars to buy a couple of horses and wagons, and we’ll take orders and deliver goods free to any family within five miles of the store.  Maxwell will have a third, and I’ll have a third as silent partner, and I’ll see that you get your appointment as postmaster.”

Quincy looked at Strout expectantly, awaiting his answer.  Finally it came.

“Considerin’ as how you put it,” said Strout, “I don’t think you and me will clash in the futur’.”

Quincy extended his hand, which Strout took, and the men shook hands.

“That settles it,” said Quincy.

“Just half an hour!” exclaimed Strout, looking at his watch.

A loud knock was heard on the door.

“I guess Abner has got tired o’ waitin’ and has come arter me,” remarked Strout.

Quincy opened the door and Mr. Stiles stood revealed.

“Is Professor Strout here?” asked he.

“Yes,” said Quincy; “come in.”

“I guess I’ll see him out here,” continued Abner.  “What I’ve got to say may be kinder private.”

“Come in, Abner,” cried Strout, “and let’s hear what’s on your mind.”

“Wall,” said Abner, looking askance at Quincy, “if yer satisfied, I am.  Hiram Maxwell’s jest came down from Mis’ Putnam’s, and Mis’ Heppy Putnam’s dead,”—­Quincy started on hearing this,—­“and Samanthy Green is at her wits’ end, ’cause she never was alone in the house with a dead pusson afore, an’ Hiram’s goin’ to take Betsy Green back to stay with her sister, and then he’s goin’ to take Miss Alice Pettengill down home, cuz Miss Pettengill’s most tired out; cuz, you see, she’s been there since eight o’clock this mornin’, and Mis’ Putnam didn’t die till about one o’clock, and Samanthy says Mis’ Putnam took on awful, so you could hear her all over the house, and Miss Lindy Putnam, she’s goin’ to take the next train to Bosting—­she’s goin’, bag and baggage—­and I’ve got to drive her over to the station, and Bob Wood, he’s comin’ along with a waggin to carry her trunks and bandboxes and sich, and so I’ve come to tell yer, Professor, that I can’t take yer over to the Centre this arternoon, no how.”

“That’s all right, Abner,” said Strout; “considerin’ as how things has gone, to-morrow will do just as well, but I wish you’d drop in and tell the town treasurer that I’m goin’ into business with Mr. Maxwell and Mr. Sawyer here,”—­Abner’s eyes dilated,—­“under the firm name of Strout, Maxwell, & Co.”