“Have you?” he asked, for the third time.

Phineas’ mouth opened, but Grover’s fingers tightened on his shoulder and what came out of that mouth was merely a savage repetition of his favorite retort, “None of your darned business.”

“Yes, ’tis my business,” began Captain Sam, but Jed interrupted.

“I don’t see as it makes any difference whether he’s heard anything or not, Sam,” he suggested eagerly.  “No matter what he’s heard, it ain’t so, because there couldn’t have been anything stolen.  There was only four hundred missin’.  I’ve found that and you’ve got it back; so that settles it, don’t it?”

“It certainly would seem as if it did,” observed Grover.  “Congratulations, Captain Hunniwell.  You’re fortunate that so honest a man found the money, I should say.”

The captain merely grunted.  The odd expression was still on his face.  Jed turned to the other two.

“Er—­er—­Major Grover,” he said, “if—­if you hear any yarns now about money bein’ missin’—­or—­or stolen you can contradict ’em now, can’t you?”

“I certainly can—­and will.”

“And you’ll contradict ’em, too, eh, Phin?”

Babbitt jerked his shoulder from Grover’s grasp and strode to the door.

“Let me out of here,” he snarled.  “I’m goin’ home.”

No one offered to detain him, but as he threw open the door to the outer shop Leonard Grover followed him.

“Just a moment, Babbitt,” he said.  “I’ll go as far as the gate with you, if you don’t mind.  Good afternoon, Jed.  Good afternoon, Captain, and once more—­congratulations. . . .  Here, Babbitt, wait a moment.”

Phineas did not wait, but even so his pursuer caught him before he reached the gate.  Jed, who had run to the window, saw the Major and the hardware dealer in earnest conversation.  The former seemed to be doing most of the talking.  Then they separated, Grover remaining by the gate and Phineas striding off in the direction of his shop.  He was muttering to himself and his face was working with emotion.  Between baffled malice and suppressed hatred he looked almost as if he were going to cry.  Even amid his own feelings of thankfulness and relief Jed felt a pang of pity for Phineas Babbitt.  The little man was the incarnation of spite and envy and vindictive bitterness, but Jed was sorry for him, just as he would have been sorry for a mosquito which had bitten him.  He might be obliged to crush the creature, but he would feel that it was not much to blame for the bite; both it and Phineas could not help being as they were—­they were made that way.

He heard an exclamation at his shoulder and turned to find that Captain Sam had also been regarding the parting at the gate.

“Humph!” grunted the captain.  “Phin looks as if he’d been eatin’ somethin’ that didn’t set any too good.  What’s started him to obeyin’ orders from that Grover man all to once?  I always thought he hated soldierin’ worse than a hen hates a swim. . . .  Humph! . . .  Well, that’s the second queerest thing I’ve run across to-day.”