"He has," said Barlow, abruptly, "but he has made new connections recently." I wanted to ask what they were, but Barlow's attitude warned me not to. So, the three of us went to Boston and bought a complete stock of automobile accessories. I followed Fred Barlow's lead, for he certainly was familiar with the goods. The next day the men came to make arrangements for putting in the gas tank. While they were measuring the pavement, and deciding just where to fix the pump, Stigler happened along. "Morning, Stigler," I said, with an attempt at joviality; "how's business?" "Fine," he responded. "How's bread mixers going?" He sneered as he spoke, and I felt myself getting mad. "So, so," I replied--then, in an attempt to equal up the score, I added, "Too bad your five-and-ten-cent store proved such a fizzle!" He turned sharply on me and snarled, "You keep yer damned tongue still when yer see me. I don't let whelps like you talk 'big' to me and get away with it, savvy?" Without another word he walked away, leaving me taut and trembling with agitation. I had been given to understand that Stigler's plan of continual price cutting had cut his profits to the vanishing point. He had brooded over it so much that it had become a mania with him. Unfortunately, he held me responsible for his troubles. I told Betty about it as a good joke on Stigler, but she didn't laugh, instead she said gravely, "Leave that man alone, my dear; he is dangerous. Don't pick quarrels with him, or you may come to blows, or worse. Remember, dearest, that I need you more than ever--now." How dear she was, and how brave and happy she kept while waiting--I could not let her have anything to worry about until after. Charlie Martin had asked if he could come around to the house that evening, and, of course, I had said, "Yes." Charlie had grown to be one of us almost, and I hardly realized how much I had come to depend on him until the thought of losing him occurred to me. I don't know how I had happened to get into the habit of looking upon Charlie as a fixture with me. I knew his people were fairly well to do, and that the eight dollars a week I paid him were a mere bagatelle toward his living expenses. One gets into the habit, however, of accepting things on surface evidence, until one loses sight of the motive which is at the back of the evidence. For instance, if I had thought a bit, I would have known Charlie hadn't worked for eight dollars a week just because he needed a job.