“Better mind my own business, hadn't I,” he observed. “All right, I will. No offense meant, you understand. But, you see, I've never believed that work was the cuss of mankind, like some folks, and no matter how much money a young feller's got I think he's better off doin' somethin'. That's the gospel accordin' to Elisha. Well, good luck and a pleasant v'yage. See you again soon. Say,” turning back, “keep an eye on George, will you? Folks in love are l'ble to be absent-minded, they tell me, and I should not want him to be absent with any of my money. Hear that, do you, George?” Taylor, who was standing near, laughed and walked away. A moment later I saw him looking out of the window with the same strange expression on his face which I had noticed several times before when his approaching marriage was hinted at. Something was troubling him, that was plain. He loved Nellie devotedly, I knew; yet he obviously did not like to hear the marriage mentioned. Sim Eldredge was one of the first visitors to the bank, but his visit was a short one. He entered the door, walked straight to the teller's window and peered through the bars. I heard him catch his breath. “Good morning, Sim,” said I. “What can I do for you?” “Do?” he repeated. “Do for me? Nothin'--nothin', 'special. You--you meant it, then?” “I told you I did.” “My soul!” was all the answer he made. Then he turned and walked out. At about eleven o'clock I was half-way through the addition of a column of figures when I heard some one say, “Well, by time!” with such anguished fervor that it was almost like a prayer for help. I looked up. Lute Rogers was staring in at me, open-mouthed and horror-stricken. “Hello, Lute!” I said. Lute swallowed hard. “They told me 'twas so,” he stammered. “They said so and--and I laughed at 'em. Ros, you ain't, be you?” “What?” “Goin' to stay in there and--and take Henry's job?” “Yes.” “You be! And you never said nothin' to nobody? To Dorinda? Or even Comfort?” “No; not yet.” “Nor to me. To ME, by time! You let them fellers at the store make a fool of me--” “No one could do that, Lute. I have told you so often.” “And you let them know it afore I did. And me livin' right in the house with you! By time! I--I--” “There, there, Lute! don't cry. I'll tell you all about it when I come home for dinner.” “Yes, I should think you might do that much. Treatin' your own family like--why did you tell Sim Eldredge?” “Sim asked me and so I told him, that was all. Don't stand there fidgeting. Run along home, there's a good fellow. Mr. Taylor has his eye on you already.” Lute glanced apprehensively toward the cashier's desk and turned to go. “Well!” he exclaimed, “I've said you was crazy more'n once, that's some satisfaction. Say! can I tell 'em to home?” I hesitated. “You may tell Dorinda if you like,” I answered. “But I prefer to tell Mother, myself.”