Martha shook her head once more.  She and the cashier were old friends.  “No receipt to give, Edgar,” she said.  “I wish there was; I’d be busy usin’ it, I tell you.  I just sold somethin’ I owned, that’s all, and got a good deal better price than I ever expected to.  In fact, I had about given up hope of ever gettin’ a cent.  But there, I mustn’t talk so much.  You’ll deposit that to my account, won’t you, Edgar?  And, if you should see your way clear to pay seven or eight per cent interest instead of four, or whatever you do pay, don’t bother to write and ask me if I’ll take it, because you’ll only be wastin’ your time. . . .  Eh?  Why, good gracious, Jethro!  What are you doin’ over here?”

The captain’s big frame blocked the doorway of the cashier’s office.  He had opened that door without knocking, because it was his habit to open doors that way.  Captain Jethro Hallett’s position as keeper of the Gould’s Bluffs light was not an exalted or highly paid one, but his influence in Wellmouth and its vicinity was considerable, nevertheless.  He was accounted a man of means, he had always been—­more especially in the years before his wife’s death and the break in health which followed it—­a person of shrewd business ability and keenness in a trade, and even now, when some of the townsfolk grinned behind his back and told stories of his spiritualistic obsessions, they were polite and deferential to his face.  As a matter of fact, it would have been extremely impolitic to be otherwise than deferential to him.  Captain Jeth was quite aware of his worth and expected deference.

He was as surprised to see his neighbor as she was to see him.

“Why, hello, Martha!” he grunted.  “What fetched you here?”

“I asked you first, Cap’n Jeth, but it doesn’t make any difference.  My feet brought me as far as the corner and Ras Beebe’s grocery cart brought me the rest of the way.  I had planned to come in the train, but Ras saved me the trouble—­and the fare.  He’s goin’ back in a few minutes, so I’ve got to hurry.”

“Humph!  But what did you come here for?”

“Oh, I had a little business with Edgar and the bank.  Excuse me, Jethro.  Edgar . . .”

She stooped and whispered to the cashier.  He nodded.

“Yes, Martha, of course,” he said.  “You’ve got your book?  All right.  Back in a minute, Cap’n.”

He picked up the pile of money from the desk, took from Miss Phipps’ hand the pass book she handed him, and together they stepped out into the public room.  Captain Jethro, whose eyes had caught sight of the bills, leaned forward and peered through the little grating above Mr. Thacher’s desk.  He saw the cashier and Martha standing by the teller’s window.  The former said something and handed the teller the bank book and the roll of bills.  A moment later the teller, having counted the money and made an entry in the book, handed the latter back to the lady.