Ben rarely mentioned Coats Penniman, but occasionally he had been satirical over the changes Coats was making. When the house became redolent of paint, he took his hammock and slept in the woods. "Paint is supposed to be a' awful good thing," he told Ann. "Even the ladies thinks it'll hide old age, but it don't deceive nobody. I never took no stock in paint--wood is one of the prettiest things on earth; why cover it up?" On the evening when he talked with Ann in a way that made her anxious, he began by saying, "This place an' Westmo' is becomin' too fashionable. All we needs now is a' automobile. Westmo's got one--I seen Garvin scarin' chickens an' niggers all down the Post-Road this mornin', an' that young cool-head who's stayin' at the club an' makin' love to Miss Judith showin' Garvin how to do it. If the president was to travel down the Post-Road in a wheelbarrer, it wouldn't stir up half the sensation Garvin did.... I reckon Edward wanted to give Garvin something to occupy his mind. Well, he's done it--an' a fashionable way to break his neck, too." Ann knew that Garvin was to have the automobile. He had told her that it was coming, and that, as soon as he could run it, he would take her with him to the city and back in an evening. That now he could show her the city of which she knew so little. But she did not comment on Garvin's new possession. "You always speak of Garvin in that way, Ben, and differently of Edward Westmore--why do you?" she asked gravely. "Edward's a gentleman an' Garvin's jes' a Westmo', second generation to his pa," Ben returned. "I thought every Westmore was a gentleman," Ann said, quite as Judith might have spoken; there was hauteur in the reproof. Her head had lifted.