Jack was ’most crazy. He said those houses ought to be pretty nearly finished in three weeks, and if that lumber didn’t come it would mean a big loss. “It ’ll pretty nearly bust us,” he said, and groaned like his ankle hurt him. “I ought to go right down to the city to see about it, but here I am laid up so I can’t wiggle.” “I hain’t laid up to speak of,” says Catty, as sober as a judge. “Calc’late I’d go if I was asked.” “Somebody’s got to,” says Jack. “Dad can’t. He’s got to stay on the work. It ’ll have to be me.” “Think you can manage it?” Jack said, pretty anxious and doubtful. “Looks like I _got_ to,” says Catty, “and when you got to do a thing you ’most gen’ally do it.” So that’s how it came that Catty and I went to the city. It was only a couple of hours’ ride and my father let me go when Catty asked him if I couldn’t. We took an early-morning train and got to the city before nine o’clock. We went right to the office of the lumber company, but the man that was at the head of it wasn’t there yet. He came in in a few minutes, and went right to his office. Catty asked to see him, and told the clerk he was from Atkins & Phillips. We were let in, and Mr. Heminway looked us over and says, “What d’ you want?” Short and sharplike he was. “Lumber,” says Catty, as sober as he always is when he gets down to business. “Lots of folks do. What do you want it for? To build a dog-house?” “I want to build a dozen cottages,” says Catty, “and, Mr. Heminway, I got to have it. I jest _got_ to.” “Oh, you’re from Atkins & Phillips? Of course. I remember. We wrote that we couldn’t make delivery for three weeks.” “In three weeks we won’t need it,” says Catty. “Why?” “We’ll be busted.” “That’s too bad, young man, but we’re doing the best we can. We’ll fix you up as soon as we can, but you’ll have to wait your turn, just like the rest.” “But we can’t wait. I jest can’t go back and tell Dad and Jack that I couldn’t git that lumber.... It hain’t so much on account of losin’ the money, but it ’ll be sich a setback to our becomin’ respectable.” “Eh? What’s that? Respectable? What d’you mean?” “Catty’s dead set on his father and him bein’ respectable,” says I. “Seems like he’s almost crazy on the subject.” “What’s the idea, young man?” says Mr. Heminway, turning to Catty, and Catty set in to tell how he and his father came to our town just tramps, and how Mrs. Gage had said he was a vagabond and how he had made up his mind to settle there and show folks he was as good as anybody and make them admit it; and how he was leaning manners and teaching them to his father; and how folks tried to chase them out of town; and all about the business and Jim Bockers and the contract and everything except Mr. Kinderhook. Catty never mentioned Kinderhook once. “I never heard the like,” says Mr. Heminway, looking kind of queer at Catty; “and do you think you can do what you’ve set out to do?”