Laban, to whom the reference was anything but clear, replied rather vaguely that he didn't know as he was, very. Albert's temper flared up again. His grandfather was sneering at him once more; he was always sneering at him. All right, let him sneer--now. Some day he would be shown. He scowled and turned away. And Captain Zelotes, noticing the scowl, was reminded of a scowl he had seen upon the face of a Spanish opera singer some twenty years before. He did not like to be reminded of that man. He went out soon afterward and then Laban, turning to Albert, asked a few questions. “How do you think you're goin' to like South Harniss, Ansel?” he asked. Albert was tempted to reply that he, Keeler, had asked him that very question before, but he thought it best not to do so. “I don't know yet,” he answered, carelessly. “Well enough, I guess.” “You'll like it fust-rate bimeby. Everybody does when they get used to it. Takes some time to get used to a place, don't you know it does, Ansel?” “My name is Albert.” “Eh? Yes, yes, so 'tis. Yes, yes, yes. I don't know why I called you Ansel, 'less 'twas on account of my knowin' an Ansel Olsen once . . . Hum . . . Yes, yes. Well, you'll like South Harniss when you get used to it.” The boy did not answer. He was of the opinion that he should die long before the getting used process was completed. Mr. Keeler continued. “Come on yesterday's train, did you?” he asked. Albert looked at him. Was the fellow joking? He did not look as if he was. “Why no,” he replied. “I came last Monday night. Don't you remember?” “Eh? Oh, yes . . . Yes, yes, yes . . . Last Monday night you come, eh? On the night train, eh?” He hesitated a moment and then asked. “Cap'n Lote fetch you down from the depot?” Albert stared at him open-mouthed. “Why, no!” he retorted. “You drove me down yourself.” For the first time a slight shade of embarrassment crossed the bookkeeper's features. He drew a long breath. “Yes,” he mused. “Yes, yes, yes. I kind of thought I--yes, yes,--I--I thought likely I did . . . Yes, yes, course I did, course I did. Well, now maybe we'd better be startin' you in to work--er--Augustus. Know anything about double-entry, do you?” Albert did not, nor had he the slightest desire to learn. But before the first hour was over he foresaw that he was destined to learn, if he remained in that office, whether he wanted to or not. Laban Keeler might be, and evidently was, peculiar in his ways, but as a bookkeeper he was thoroughness personified. And as a teacher of his profession he was just as thorough. All that forenoon Albert practiced the first principles of “double entry” and, after the blessed hour for dinner, came back to practice the remainder of the working day.