Phillips laughed.  Jed’s slow smile appeared and vanished.  “Looks as if facin’ my jokes was no child’s play, don’t it,” he observed.  “Well, I will give in that gettin’ any fun out of ’em is a man’s size job.”

On the following Monday the young man took up his duties in the bank.  Captain Hunniwell interviewed him, liked him, and hired him all in the same forenoon.  By the end of the first week of their association as employer and employee the captain liked him still better.  He dropped in at the windmill shop to crow over the fact.

“He takes hold same as an old-time first mate used to take hold of a green crew,” he declared.  “He had his job jumpin’ to the whistle before the second day was over.  I declare I hardly dast to wake up mornin’s for fear I’ll find out our havin’ such a smart feller is only a dream and that the livin’ calamity is Lute Small.  And to think,” he added, “that you knew about him for the land knows how long and would only hint instead of tellin’.  I don’t know as you’d have told yet if his sister hadn’t told first.  Eh?  Would you?”

Jed deliberately picked a loose bristle from his paint brush.

“Maybe not,” he admitted.

“Gracious king!  Well, why not?”

“Oh, I don’t know.  I’m kind of—­er—­funny that way.  Like to take my own time, I guess likely.  Maybe you’ve noticed it, Sam.”

“Eh?  Maybe I’ve noticed it?  A blind cripple that was born deef and dumb would have noticed that the first time he ran across you.  What on earth are you doin’ to that paint brush; tryin’ to mesmerize it?”

His friend, who had been staring mournfully at the brush, now laid it down.

“I was tryin’ to decide,” he drawled, “whether it needed hair tonic or a wig.  So you like this Charlie Phillips, do you?”

“Sartin sure I do!  And the customers like him, too.  Why, old Melissa Busteed was in yesterday and he waited on her for half an hour, seemed so, and when the agony was over neither one of ’em had got mad enough so anybody outside the buildin’ would notice it.  And that’s a miracle that ain’t happened in that bank for more’n one year.  Why, I understand Melissa went down street tellin’ all hands what a fine young man we’d got workin’ for us. . . .  Here, what are you laughin’ at?”

The word was ill-chosen; Jed seldom laughed, but he had smiled slightly and the captain noticed it.

“What are you grinnin’ at?” he repeated.

Jed’s hand moved across his chin.

“Gab Bearse was in a spell ago,” he replied, “and he was tellin’ about what Melissa said.”

“Well, she said what I just said she said, didn’t she?”

Mr. Winslow nodded.  “Um-hm,” he admitted, “she said—­er—­all of that.”

“All of it?  Was there some more?”

“‘Cordin’ to Gabe there was.  ‘Cordin’ to him she said . . . she said . . . er . . .  Hum! this brush ain’t much better’n the other.  Seem to be comin’ down with the mange, both of ’em.”