“Good morning,” called Welliver, chipper as a wren. “You’re an early bird. Thought I’d have to leave without saying good-by.” “Hope you have a pleasant drive,” said Jim. He turned down the walk and strode away with the intention of tramping a mile or two before the dining-room opened. “Wait a minute, son,” Welliver called. “Come here and shake hands with Mr. Moran—you’ll be meeting each other in a business way considerable. He owns this thirty-mile streak of rust you call a railroad. And Judge Frame.” Jim shook hands. Moran returned his pressure heartily; but, while he offered a cordial welcome to Diversity, Jim was aware the man’s clear gray eyes were studying and appraising him. As for Zaanan Frame, he merely grunted. “Haven’t had a change of heart since last night?” asked Welliver. Jim smiled and shook his head. “Our folks will be quoting a discount of five tens this morning,” Be said. “Son, when you’ve been in this business twenty years you’ll go slower.” “Colts,” said Zaanan Frame, “kicks out the dashboard jest for fun. But most gen’ally, when an old hoss starts in to use his heels he means business.” James said nothing. He was to discover that Zaanan Frame was given to making remarks to which it was difficult to retort; that Zaanan had a way of dropping a statement over a conversation as one would lower a candle-snuffer over the flame, and that a new subject to talk about became immediately desirable. The old justice was a final sort of person. Jim’s dislike for him grew like one of these huge white mushrooms which daring individuals pick and fry and eat—and sometimes survive. “You are determined?” asked Mr. Welliver, making one last effort. “I’m determined to run my own business,” said Jim. Mr. Welliver shrugged his erect and beautifully tailored shoulders. “When you’ve got enough—” he began, suggestively, but did not trouble to finish the sentence. “Glad to have met you, gentlemen,” Jim said. “I’m off for a walk to stir up enthusiasm for breakfast.”