They was often them feuds in Friendship Village--like this one, and like Mis’ Merriman’s and my new one. It hadn’t ought to be so in a village family, but then sometimes it is. I s’pose in cities it’s different--they always say it makes folks broader to live in cities, and they prob’ly get to know better. But it’s like that with us. Well, of course the back-bone had dropped out of the morning for Mis’ Holcomb, and she didn’t take no more interest in going down street than she would in darning--I mention darning because I defy anybody to pick out anything uninterestinger. Up to the time I got to the Post-Office Hall store, I was trying to persuade her to come in with me to see Silas. “I’d best not go in,” she says. “You know how one person’s quarrel is catching in a family. And a potato bread receipt is as good as anything else to be loyal about.” But I made her go in, even if she shouldn’t say a word, but just act constituent-like. Silas was alone in the store, sticking dates on to a green paste-board to make the word “Pure” to go over his confectionery counter. He had his coat off, and his hair had been brushed with a wet brush that left the print of the bristles, and his very back looked Busy. “Hello, folks,” says he, “how’s life?” “Selfish as ever,” I says. “Ain’t trade?” “Well,” says Silas, “it’s every man for himself and the devil take the hindmost in most everything now, ain’t it? As the prophet said, It beats all.” “It does that,” I says. “It beats everybody in the end. Funny they don’t find it out. That’s why,” I adds serene, “we been so moved by your generous cost sales of stuff, Silas. What you been doin’ that for anyway?” I put it to him. “For to bait trade,” says he. “For what else?” I ask’ him. “Why,” he says, beginning to be irritable, which some folks uses instead of wit, “to push the store, of course. I ain’t been doin’ it for the fun of it.” “Ain’t you now?” I says. “I thought it was kind of a game with you.” “What do you mean--game?” says Silas, scowling. “Cat and mouse,” I says brief. “You the cat and Bitty Marshall the mouse.” Silas stood up straight and just towered at me. “What you been hearing _now_?” he says, demandful. “Well,” I answered him, “nothing that surprised me very much. Only that you’ve been underselling Bitty so’s to drive him out and keep the trade of the Flats yourself.” Silas never squinched. “Well,” says he, “what if I have? Ain’t I got a right to protect my own business?” I looked him square in the eye. “No,” I says, “not that way.” Silas put back his head and laughed, tolerant. “I guess,” he says, “you ain’t been following very close the business affairs of this country.” “Following them was how I come to understand about you,” I says simple. And I might have added, “And knowing about you, I can see how it is with them.”