“No,” grunted Mr. Gott shortly.

“What is it, then?  Ain’t paint sellin’ well?”

“Sellin’ well ’nough.  I could sell a hundred ton of paint to-morrow, more’n likely, but when it come to gittin’ the money for it, that would be another story.  If folks would pay their bills there wouldn’t be no trouble.”

“Who’s stuck you now?”

“I don’t s’pose anybody has, but it’s just as bad when they don’t pay up.  I’ve got to have money to keep a-goin’ with.  It don’t make no diff’rence if it’s as good a customer as Major Hardee; he ought to remember that we ain’t all rich like him and—­”

A general movement among all the club members interrupted him.  The checker players left their boards and came over; the “seven-up” devotees dropped their cards and joined the circle.

“What was that you said?” asked Higgins, uneasily.  “The Major owin’ you money, was it?”

“Oh, course I know he’s all right and a fine man and all that,” protested Obed, feeling himself put on the defensive.  “But that ain’t it.  What’s a feller goin’ to do when he needs the money and gets a letter like that?”

He drew the crumpled sheet of note paper from his pocket, and threw it on the table.  Higgins picked it up and read it aloud, as follows: 

Silverleaf hall, June 20th.

My dear Mr. Gott:  I am in receipt of your courteous communication of recent date.  I make it an unvarying rule to keep little ready money here in East Harniss, preferring rather to let it remain at interest in the financial institutions of the cities.  Another rule of mine, peculiar, I dare say—­even eccentric, if you like—­is never to pay by check.  I am expecting remittances from my attorneys, however, and will then bear you in mind.  Again thanking you for your courtesy, and begging you to extend to your sister my kindest regards, I remain, my dear sir,

Yours very respectfully,

Cuthbertson Scott Hardee.

P. S.—­I shall be delighted to have the pleasure of entertaining your sister and yourself at dinner at the hall on any date agreeable to you.  Kindly let me hear from you regarding this at your earliest convenience.  I must insist upon this privilege, so do not disappoint me, I beg.

The reception accorded this most gentlemanly epistle was peculiar.  Mr. Higgins laid it upon the table and put his hand into his own pocket.  So did Ezra Weeks, the butcher; Caleb Small, the dry goods dealer; “Hen” Leadbetter, the livery stable keeper; “Bash” Taylor, the milkman, and three or four others.  And, wonder of wonders, each produced a sheet of note paper exactly like Obed’s.

They spread them out on the table.  The dates were, of course, different, and they differed in other minor particulars, but in the main they were exactly alike.  And each one of them ended with an invitation to dinner.