Marley saw it all in a flash; this was what Powell had meant that day a fortnight ago; he felt his great affection for Powell glow and warm; Lavinia would appreciate Powell after this. It meant salary, position, a place in which he might complete his law studies at his leisure; it meant a living, a home, marriage, Lavinia! He looked all his gratitude at Powell, who smiled appreciatively. Carman had turned his face away again, he was still smiling, and plucking now at his chin; Marley waited, and Powell finally grew impatient. "Well, Jake, what do you say?" Carman waited a moment longer, then slowly turned about. Marley watched him narrowly, he saw the pupil of his right eye contract, the pupil of the watery left eye remained fixed; then, for the first time, Carman looked steadily at Marley and for the first time he spoke. "Well," he said, and he stopped to spit out his tobacco, "you know I'm always ready to do a friend a good turn." Powell looked Carman over carefully a moment, and then he said, "All right, Jake." Just then there was a rush of hoofs, a shock of excitement, and they heard a loud yell: "Go!" And they rushed to the fence of the whitewashed palings. CHAPTER XVIII THE ROAD TO MINGO Lavinia sat rocking quietly back and forth, and stitched away with her colored silks on her tambourine frames, while Marley told her of the fortune Wade Powell had brought them. He told the story briefly, and he tried to tell it simply; he did not comment on Powell's kindness or generosity, but let his deeds speak for themselves in Powell's behalf. When he had done, Marley waited for Lavinia's comment, but she rocked on a moment and then held her tambourine frames at arm's length to study the sweet pea she was making. When she had done so, she dropped her sewing suddenly into her lap, and looking up, said: "He thinks everything of you, doesn't he?" "I believe he likes me," Marley said, as modestly as he could put it. "Who could help it?" Lavinia looked at Marley, and he leaned over, and took her hands. "I am glad you can't, sweetheart," he said. "Do you know," she went on, "I think it is because you have been kind and good to him--just as you are kind and good to every one. His life is lonely; he is an outcast, almost; no one cares for him, and he appreciates your goodness." Pity was the utmost feeling she could produce for Wade Powell out of her kindly heart. But Marley, though he could accept her homage to the full without embarrassment, could not acquiesce to this length, and he laughed at her.