“Handed ’em in this very mornin’.  One of his high-and-mighty servants, all brass buttons and braid, like a feller playin’ in the band, took my letter and condescended to say he’d pass it on to Williams.  I’d liked to have kicked the critter, just to see if he could unbend; but I jedged ’twouldn’t be good business.”

“Probably not.  If the ‘Colonial’ gets to Olive’s lot afore she hears from the Omaha man, what then?”

“Well, that’s the worst of it.  The minister don’t know what she’ll do.  There’s plenty of places where she’d be more’n welcome to visit a spell, but she’s too proud to accept.  Mr. Hilton’s afraid she’ll start for Boston to hunt up a job, or somethin’.  You know how much chance she stands of gettin’ a job that’s wuth anything.”

Phinney paused, anxiously awaiting his companion’s reply.  When it came it was very unsatisfactory.

“I’m goin’ to the depot,” said the Captain, brusquely.  “So long, Sim.”

He slammed the door of the house behind him, strode to the gate, flung it open, and marched on.  Simeon gazed in astonishment, then hurried to overtake him.  Ranging alongside, he endeavored to reopen the conversation, but to no purpose.  The depot master would not talk.  They turned into Cross Street.

“Well!” exclaimed Mr. Phinney, panting from his unaccustomed hurry, “what be we, runnin’ a race?  Why! . . .  Oh, how d’ye do, Mr. Williams, sir?  Want to see me, do you?”

The magnate of East Harniss stepped forward.

“Er—­Phinney,” he said, “I want a moment of your time.  Morning, Berry.”

“Mornin’, Williams,” observed Captain Sol brusquely.  “All right, Sim.  I’ll wait for you farther on.”

He continued his walk.  The building mover stood still.  Mr. Williams frowned with lofty indignation.

“Phinney,” he said, “I’ve just looked over those figures of yours, your bid for moving my new house.  The price is ridiculous.”

Simeon attempted a pleasantry.  “Yes,” he answered, “I thought ’twas ridic’lous myself; but I needed the money, so I thought I could afford to be funny.”

The Williams frown deepened.

“I didn’t mean ridiculously low,” he snapped; “I meant ridiculously high.  I’d rather help out you town fellows if I can, but you can’t work me for a good thing.  I’ve written to Colt and Adams, of Boston, and accepted their offer.  You had your chance and didn’t see fit to take it.  That’s all.  I’m sorry.”

Simeon was angry; also a trifle skeptical.

“Mr. Williams,” he demanded, “do you mean to tell me that them people have agreed to move you cheaper’n I can?”

“Their price—­their actual price may be no lower; but considering their up-to-date outfit and—­er—­progressive methods, they’re cheaper.  Yes.  Morning, Phinney.”

He turned on his heel and walked off.  Mr. Phinney, crestfallen and angrier than ever, moved on to where the depot master stood waiting for him.  Captain Sol smiled grimly.