Mr. Harnden, astonished and much hurt, watched the usurer till he tramped into Britt Block.

But Mr. Harnden had too much important business of his own on his mind to use time in wondering how a Prophet had managed to get out of jail.

CHAPTER XXI

BLOOD OUT OF TURNIPS

In the past Mr. Harnden had regularly referred to Egypt as a good jumping-off place; he emphasized the jest by pointing to the ledge outcroppings which indicated that the landscape would not sag under the weight of the most energetic jumper.  Then away he would go!

His detractors said that he was in the habit of coming home when affairs were in such a bad way with him that he could not stay anywhere else.

His wife and daughter had never admitted anything of the sort, even to each other.  They affectionately welcomed Mr. Harnden when he came; after he had stoked the fires of his faith, and they had darned his socks and mended his shirts, they gave him the accustomed encouraging and loving Godspeed when he went away again under a full head of optimism.  They always agreed with him, on each going-away, that this was surely the time when Opportunity was waiting outside.

But for many weeks Opportunity had seemed to be camping with Mr. Harnden right in his own home town.  He was brisk, radiant, and apparently prosperous.

Therefore, when he announced in the bosom of his family that he proposed to go away for a time, his wife and daughter were frankly astonished.

It was directly after breakfast on the morning following Mr. Harnden’s return from the shire town.

He did not display his usual jocose manner when he referred to Egypt as a jumping-off place.  Vona found a sort of furtive uneasiness in the way he glanced out of the window and fingered his vest-pocket equipment.  And he trod to and fro with the air of a man stepping on hot bricks.

“But you have said you are doing so well in your new business, father!” Vona’s straightforward gaze was disconcerting.

Mr. Harnden kept on with his patrol.  “Confound it.  I’ve got to get into towns where there’s more dirt if I’m going to sell any more nursery stock!”

“Oh, is that it?  But I happened to go up in the attic and I found your sample books thrown behind a trunk, and I was afraid—­”

“Afraid of what?” he demanded, with childish temper.

“Afraid you were giving up what seems to be a sure thing.  The other ventures have been such uncertainties!” she returned, her business woman’s composure unaffected by his reproachful stare.

“The books were all smutched up—­too many dirty fingers afoul of them.  I shall get new ones—­providing I stay in that line.”  He was not convincing.  “We’ll see—­we’ll see!  I’ve got to be moving.  These are busy times for me.”

“But you don’t say when you’re coming back, Joe!” quavered his wife.