“I reckon you’re a good man,” said Old Twentypercent, solemnly. From this auspicious beginning the acquaintance slowly but steadily waxed into a queer kind of semi-friendship. Amos always bowed to the old woman when he met her on the street. She sent the prisoners in the jail fruit every Sunday during the season; and Amos, not to be churlish, returned the courtesy with a flowering plant, now and then, in winter. But he never carried his gifts himself, esteeming that such conduct would be an intrusion on a lady who preferred a retired life. Esquire Clark, however, was of a social turn. He visited the jail often. The first time he came Amos sent him back. The messenger, Mrs. Raker, was received at the door, thanked warmly, sent away loaded with fruit and flowers, but not asked over the threshold, which made Amos the surer that he was right in not going himself. Nevertheless, he did go to see Miss Clark, but hardly on his own errand. A carpenter in the town, a good sort of thriftless though industrious creature, came to Amos to borrow some money. He explained that he needed it to pay interest on a debt, and that his tools were pledged for security. The interest, he mourned, was high, and the debt of long standing. The creditor was Old Twentypercent. “It’s a shame I ’ain’t paid it off before, and that’s a fact,” he concluded; “but a feller with nine children can’t pay nothing—not even the debt of nature—for he’s ’fraid to die and leave them. And the blamed thing’s been a-runnin’ and a-runnin’, like a ringworm, and a-eatin’ me up. Though my wife she says we’ve more’n paid her up in interest.” Amos had an old kindness for the man, and after a visit to his wife—he holding the youngest two of the nine (twins) on his knees and keeping the peace with candy—he told the pair he would ask Miss Clark to allow a third extension, on the payment of the interest. “Well, but I don’t know’s he’s even got that,” said the wife, anxiously. “We’d a lot of expenses; I don’t s’pose we’d orter had the twins’ photographs taken this month, but they was so delicate I was ’fraid we wouldn’t raise ’em; and Mamie really couldn’t go to school without new shoes. Children’s a blessing, I s’pose, but it’s a blessing poor folks had got to pay for in advance!”