He did not hear the door of the outer shop open.  A month or more ago he had removed the bell from the door.  His excuse for so doing had been characteristic.

“I can’t stand the wear and tear on my morals,” he told Ruth.  “I ain’t sold anything, except through the mail, since the winter really set in.  And yet every time that bell rings I find myself jumpin’ up and runnin’ to wait on a customer.  When it turns out to be Gabe Bearse or somebody like him I swear, and swearin’ to me is like whiskey to some folks—­comfortin’ but demoralizin’.”

So the bell having been removed, Jed did not hear the person who came into and through the outer shop.  The first sign of that person’s presence which reached his ears was an unpleasant chuckle.  He turned, to see Mr. Phineas Babbitt standing in the doorway of the inner room.  And—­this was the most annoying and disturbing fact connected with the sight—­the hardware dealer was not scowling, he was laughing.  The Winslow foot fell to the floor with a thump and its owner sat up straight.

“He, he, he!” chuckled Phineas.  Jed regarded him silently.  Babbitt’s chuckle subsided into a grin.  Then he spoke.

“Well,” he observed, with sarcastic politeness, “how’s the great Shavin’s Jedidah, the famous inventor of whirlagigs?  He, he, he!”

Jed slowly shook his head.  “Phin,” he said, “either you wear rubbers or I’m gettin’ deaf, one or the other.  How in the world did you get in here this time without my hearin’ you?”

Phineas ignored the question.  He asked one of his own.  “How’s the only original high and mighty patriot this afternoon?” he sneered.

The Winslow hand caressed the Winslow chin.

“If you mean me, Phin,” drawled Jed, “I’m able to sit up and take nourishment, thank you.  I judge you must be kind of ailin’, though.  Take a seat, won’t you?”

“No, I won’t.  I’ve got other fish to fry, bigger fish than you, at that”

“Um-hm.  Well, they wouldn’t have to be sperm whales to beat me, Phin.  Be kind of hard to fry ’em if they was too big, wouldn’t it?”

“They’re goin’ to fry, you hear me.  Yes, and they’re goin’ to sizzle.  He, he, he!”

Mr. Winslow sadly shook his head.  “You must be awful sick, Phin,” he drawled.  “That’s the third or fourth time you’ve laughed since you came in here.”

His visitor stopped chuckling and scowled instead.  Jed beamed gratification.

“That’s it,” he said.  “Now you look more natural.  Feelin’ a little better . . . eh?”

The Babbitt chin beard bristled.  Its wearer leaned forward.

“Shut up,” he commanded.  “I ain’t takin’ any of your sass this afternoon, Shavin’s, and I ain’t cal’latin’ to waste much time on you, neither.  You know where I’m bound now?  Well, I’m bound up to the Orham National Bank to call on my dear friend Sam Hunniwell.  He, he, he!  I’ve got a little bit of news for him.  He’s in trouble, they tell me, and I want to help him out. . . .  Blast him!”