“By Jove!” says Mr. Holmes, “I think I could do that! I won’t bother to call Rushmore. Your word is good here, Mark Tidd. You’ve made a reputation for keeping your word and for telling the truth, and it’s worth money to you. Some day you’ll realize that more than you do to-day. Do you know that a banker is more particular about a man’s truthfulness and honesty than he is about his security? Yes, sir. I’d rather lend money to a man who hadn’t security, but who had always been honest and fair, than to a man who could give me government bonds as security, but had a reputation for being crooked. Your word is good, and so is young Smalley’s here, and Jenks’s and Martin’s. You four birds flock in a bush mostly, don’t you?” “Yes, sir.” “Well, just stick to the way you’re going and keep on building up a reputation for keeping your word and making a success of things, and some day you will get a big money return on it.... I’m glad we found a way to help you out. As soon as you make shipment, and have your bill of lading and invoice, bring them here and I’ll have your money for you.” He shook hands with us both and we went out. I was feeling pretty good, I can tell you, and I guess Mark was, too, by the way his eyes twinkled over his fat cheeks. It was a nice thing to have a man like Mr. Holmes say about you, even better than getting the money we needed. But Mark didn’t say a word about it, so I didn’t. We went back to the mill, and we four boys and Silas started in to load that car. Believe me, we worked. I never hustled so in my life, and we didn’t even stop for lunch. We wanted to have that car loaded for the three-o’clock freight, and we did it. Mark rushed in and made out the bill of lading and the invoice, and along came the engine and grabbed the car, and off she went. Then Mark rushed to the bank with the papers, and Mr. Holmes gave him the money. When he came back he told us Mr. Holmes said we could get money that way whenever we needed it bad. It was a nice thing to know. We could hardly wait for the whistle to blow and to get our suppers. Then we went out in a crowd to old-man Fugle’s farm, which was about five miles up the river. We rode in Tallow Martin’s father’s surrey behind their old horse, and he was considerable of a horse, I can tell you. If a volcano was to shoot off right under that horse’s feet he might wiggle his ear and sort of look like he wondered if something unusual was going on. Mind, I don’t guarantee he would pay any attention to it, but he might. And fast! Whew! You never saw such speed! Why, I’ve known old Willie—Willie was his name—to start from the corner of Main Street at nine o’clock in the morning, and get to his barn, a quarter of a mile away, by noon! He could do it if he set his mind to it. Sometimes, though, he didn’t go in for speed and it would take him all day. Tallow was pretty proud of him and sort of spread over us other kids because we didn’t have any horses.