“Father, is this true?” Cynthia asked, her face almost pale in suppressed excitement. “I reckon thar's no doubt about it,” answered Porter. “Pole Baker's roarin' drunk, an' that always indicates that some'n' good or bad's happened to him or his friends. Thar hain't no money in Floyd's find. The Atlanta man's on the ragged edge; in fact, some say he never would 'a' confessed to the crime ef he hadn't heard that Nelson was well-to-do. I dunno. I hardly ever laugh, but I mighty nigh split my sides while Jim Carden was pokin' fun at 'em all. Jim says all the bon-tons in this section has been treatin' Floyd like a runt pig till now. The Duncans had a big blow-out at the'r house last night. Miss Evelyn's got some Atlanta gals an' boys thar at a house-party, an' the shindig was a big event. Jim said he was standin' nigh Floyd yesterday when he got his invite, an' that Nelson was about to refuse p'int-blank to go, beca'se he'd never been axed thar before he got his blood certificate; but Jim said Pole Baker was standin' thar about half-shot, swayin' back an' forth agin the desk, an' Pole up an' told Floyd that he'd have to accept--that he was as good as any in the land, an' to refuse a thing o' that sort would belittle 'im; an' so Nelson put on a b'iled shirt an' a dicky cravat an' went. Jim said his wife run over with a passle o' other women to help about the dinin'-room an' kitchen, an' that Floyd was the high-cockalorum of the whole bunch. He said all the women was at his heels, an' that nothin' was talked except the high an' mighty grandeur that's come an' gone among the Nelsons an' Floyds. Jim said Floyd looked like he wanted to crawl through a knot-hole in the floor. I'll say this fer that feller--blood or no blood, he hain't no dem fool, an' you mark my words, this thing hain't a-goin' to spile 'im nuther. You let a man make hisse'f in life, an' he hain't a-goin' daft about the flabby, ready-made sort.” “You wait and see,” Mrs. Porter said, a sneer on her lips, as she critically eyed Cynthia's face. “A man that's as bad as he is, to begin with, will be worse when he is run after like that.” “I dunno,” said Porter, his mouth full of beans. “I seed 'im give old Johnson Blare a cut this mornin' that tickled me powerful. The old skunk got out o' his rickety buggy in front o' the store an' went in to congratulate Floyd. I knowed what he was up to, an' follered 'im back to the desk. He told Floyd that he was a sort o' far-off cousin o' the Nelsons, an' that he was prouder of that fact than anything else in the world. I seed Floyd was mad as he looked at the old fellow with his high collar an' frazzley necktie. 'I'm gittin' tired o' the whole business,' Floyd said to 'im. 'I want to be appreciated, if I deserve it, for my _own_ sake, an' not on account o' my dead kinsfolk.' An' that certainly did squelch old Blare. He shook all over when he went out.”