Saxton was working outside the store, overseeing the unloading of some wagons. It was a large store, with a big stock, and Sax was busy as a hound-pup at a rabbit-hole. I rubbed my eyes. Somehow the last thing I expected to see Sax was a storekeeper. I slipped up and put my hands on his shoulders to surprise him. It surprised him all right. I felt the muscles jump under the coat, although he stood still enough, and he whirled on me with an ugly look in his eye. I think, perhaps, of all the unpleasant positions a man can get himself into, that of a playful friendly fit gone wrong will bring the sweat out the quickest--you do feel such a fool! "Beg your pardon, Arthur," says I, fairly cool, as really I hadn't done anything for him to get so wrathy about. But he got the best of himself at once, and the old, kind smile came, taking out the lines that changed his face so. "What are you talking about?" says he, playful in his turn--forced playful, painful to see. He gave me a slap on the back and I let her flicker at that--always willing to take a friend's intentions rather than the results. I never went into friendship as a money-making business. "I thought I startled you," I said. He laughed loud, so loud that I looked at him and backed away a little. "Startled me!" he says. "What nonsense! When did you come in? How do you like your job? Going to stay long?" He fired these questions at me as fast as he could talk. I, dumb-struck, answered somehow, while I felt around for something to think with. He was here and there and all over, doing everything with the same fever-hurry. Popping a string of questions at me and away before I could answer the half of them, as if he couldn't hold his mind to one thing more than a minute--and this was Arthur Saxton! Part of my mind talked to him, part wrastled with Mary's hints and the other part kept up a wondering why and what, for I felt for that man a whole-hearted kid's worship. A sack of flour fell from the wagon and split. Instantly Sax broke out into a fit of cursing. I never heard anything like it. He cursed the flour, the man that dropped it, Panama, the business, and everything above and below, his eyes two balls of wild-fire. The man jumped back scared. Sax's jaws worked hard; he got back an outside appearance of humanity. "This heat makes me irritable, Bill," he said. "Besides, there's lots of annoyance in a new business." "Sure," says I. I saw the flour sack was only an excuse--a little hole to let out the strain. A person's wits will outfoot his judgment sometimes. I had no experience to guide me, yet I knew Saxton needed humoring.