"No, indeed!" responded Reedy, roundly. "No one can estimate the influence of a good woman on a man's life." "I'm so glad"--the shivery thrill got to her throat--"if I've really helped you--Reedy." It was the first time she had used his given name, although he had often urged it. "You know," he continued, "in spite of the great opportunities for wealth here, I do not believe that I could have endured this valley if it had not been for you. You can't imagine what it means to a man, after the disagreeable hurly-burly of the day's business, to know there is a pure, sweet, womanly woman waiting for him on the porch." Mrs. Barnett gulped, filled with emotion. "I do believe," she almost gushed, "men like the shy, womanly woman who keeps her place best after all." "They certainly do!" "I don't see," mused Mrs. Barnett, "how a man really _could_ care for a woman who becomes so--so--well, rough and sunburned, and coarsened by sordid work--like that Chandler woman, for instance. I mean, I don't see how any _good_ man could care for that sort." "Nor I," said Reedy, emphatically. He steered with one hand, and got both of her hands in the other. "This year is going to be a great one for me. Cotton is already over ten cents. I'll need only $25,000 more, and then I can clean up a fortune for all of us." Mrs. Barnett, still thrilling to that hand pressure, moved a little uneasily. "Uncle Jim has been right hard to manage for the last two times. He was real ugly about that last $40,000. I had to remind him how much my poor mother did for him and how little he had done for us before he would listen to me." No wonder the widow quaked within her at the honour of being elected to do it all over again. It was not because she hesitated to attempt it for so noble a man; but for the moment she was desperate for a way to go at it. She had used in the last effort every "womanly" device known to conservative tradition for separating a man from his money. But she hesitated only a moment. A watery heart and a dry eye never won a fat loan. Undoubtedly her womanly intuition--or Providence--would show her a way. "I'll do my best, Mr. Jenkins"--she lapsed into the formal again--"to get the loan for you. But Uncle is getting right obstinate." "That's all right, little girl," he patted her hands. "I trust you to do it, you could move the heart of Gibraltar. And as I've promised you all the time, when I close up these deals I'm going to give you personally $25,000 of the profits in appreciation of your assistance. And that is not all"--he squeezed both the widow's hands a moment, then released them as if by terrific resolution--"but more of that later. We must close up this prosaic business first." The next morning at ten o'clock Jim Crill stamped up the outside stairway, stamped through the open door and threw a check for $25,000 on Reedy's desk.