Webb turned to Thornton and coolly asked for a match; then the entire group was silent till Bob Lash spoke. “How in the world did you ever happen to come ’way out here, anyway, Jim?” he asked, obtusely believing that Bradley meant exactly what he had said in regard to Webb’s proposition, and that for all concerned it would be more agreeable and profitable to talk about something else. “Got tired an’ wanted a change,” grunted Bradley. “I never was treated exactly right by my folks, an’ was itchin’ awful to make money.” “What county did you say you was from?” “Gilmer.” Webb yawned aloud, puffed at his cigar, and swept the store from end to end with a rather critical, would-be dissatisfied glance. “I passed through thar goin’ from Dalton to Canton,” went on Bob, warming up. “It’s a purty country through them mountains. What was you a-follerin’ back thar?” “Farmin’ it. Thar was jest three uv us--me an’ brother Joe an’ mother; but we couldn’t git along together.” “What a pity!” said Bob. “I al’ays wanted to make money,” went on Jim, “an’ atter the old man died I was anxious fer me an’ Joe to save up enough to git a farm uv our own; but he tuk to drinkin’ an’ spreein’ round generally, an’ was al’ays off jest when the crop needed the most attention. I al’ays was easy irritated, an’ never could be satisfied onless I was goin’ ahead. Me an’ Joe was eternally a-fussin’, an’ mother al’ays tuk his part. One night she got rippin’ mad, an’ ‘lowed that she could git along better with ‘im ef I wasn’t thar to make trouble, an’ so I made up my mind to come West. I tol’ ’em they was welcome to my intrust in the crap, an that I had had all I could stand up under, an’ was goin’ off. Mother never even said farewell, an’ Joe sorter turned up his nose, an’ ‘lowed I’d be writin’ back an’ beggin’ fer money to git home on ‘fore a month was out. I told mother ef she ever needed help to write, but she never looked up from her spinnin’-wheel, an’ from that day to this I hain’t had a scratch of a pen.” “Shorely you didn’t leave a old woman in sech hands as that,” ventured Bob. The expression on Jim Bradley’s face changed. “What was I to do? Ef I’d ‘a’ stayed thar I’d ‘a’ been a beggar to-day,” he said, argumentatively. “I ‘lowed ef I was sech a bother I’d leave ‘em; but I ’ll admit thar are times when I think I may ‘a’ been a leetle hasty. An’ I do hanker atter home folks mighty bad at times, especially when I’m locked up in this lonely store at night, with nothin’ but my cat fer company. I’ve been intendin’ to write to mother every day, but some ‘n’ al’ays interferes. I heerd four year ago, accidentally, that they was gittin’ ’long tolerable well.”