One of the big sliding-doors had been pushed aside, and in the back yard he saw Jake washing a buggy, and heard Washburn in one of the rear stalls, rattling his currycomb and brush together as he groomed a horse.  He went into the office.  The outer door was closed, and it would have been dark there, but for Washburn’s lighted lantern which hung on a peg over the desk.  He sat down at the desk and tried anew to think.  Presently he decided that he would go to Atlanta, and that he would write a note to Mrs. Floyd, telling her of his change of plans.  He took up a sheet of paper and began the note, but was interrupted by Washburn’s step outside.  He crumpled the paper in his hand, quickly thrust it into his pocket, and pretended to be looking over the pages of the ledger which lay open on the desk.

“Hello!” Washburn stood in the doorway.  “I didn’t know you wus heer.  Anything gone wrong?”

“No; why?”

“It’s a little early fer you, that’s all.”  Washburn dropped his brush and currycomb under the desk, and, full of concern, stood looking down at him.

“Thought I’d come down before breakfast” said Westerfelt.  “How was business yesterday?”

“Good; nearly everything out, and it wus most all cash—­very little booked.”

“Wash?”

“Yes, sir.”

“How much did I agree to pay you by the month?”

“Thirty dollars.”  Washburn glanced at the open ledger.  “Have I made any mistake?”

“No, but—­but I’ve been making you do all the work.  It isn’t fair.  Credit yourself with forty dollars a month from the start and keep it up.”

Washburn flushed.  “I’m mighty much obliged, Mr. Westerfelt.  I wusn’t complainin’ as it wus.”

“I know it, but you are a good fellow; I’m going to trust the whole business to you.  Your judgment’s as good as mine; do the best you can.  I’m going down to Atlanta for a few days—­I don’t know for how long, but I will write you from there.”

“I’ll do the best I can, Mr. Westerfelt, you kin be shore of that.”

Chapter XXIV

After breakfast, at Bradley’s, Westerfelt went into his room and hastily packed his valise and told Alf to take it to the stable and put it into the hack going that morning to the station.  Mrs. Bradley came to him in the entry.

“John Westerfelt, what’s got into you?” she asked, looking at him with concern.  “Shorely you are not goin’ off.”

“To Atlanta for a few days on business, that’s all,” he said; “I’ll write back from there.”

She looked at him curiously, as if not quite satisfied with his explanation.  “Well, hurry back,” she said.  “Me ‘n’ Luke’ll miss you mightily.”

“Tell Luke good-bye for me,” he called back from the gate, and she nodded to him from the hall, but he could not hear what she said.  As he approached the stable, he saw the hack waiting for him at the door.  Budd Ridly sat on the driver’s seat.