“No, no. I'm glad to do it. Shan't charge you nothin', neither.” “That's kinder still.” “No, 'tain't. . . Hold on a minute, Ros. Don't go. As I say, I'm goin' to work tooth and nail to get the town to buy that Lane property of yours. I'll stick out for you're gettin' a good price for it. I'll use all my influence.” “Thank you.” “You needn't thank me. It's a matter of principle. We'll show these city folks they ain't the whole ship, cargo and all. . . . Hold on a second more. Ros, I--er--I wonder if you'd do a little favor for me.” “What is it, Alvin?” “Why, it's this way. I've got a note here in the bank; put it there when I bought the power engine for my cat-boat. Hundred and fifty dollars, 'tis. You're a pretty good friend of George Taylor, cashier here, and I was wonderin' if you'd mind puttin' in a word with him about my gettin' it renewed when it comes due. Just tell him you think I'm all right, and a good risk, or somethin' like that.” I could not help smiling. Alvin seemed to find encouragement in the smile. “George thinks consider'ble of you,” he said. “And Captain Jed--he's one of the directors--he will, too, now that you've stood up to Colton. Just put in a word for me, will you? And don't forget I'm a friend of yours, and I'm strong for your gettin' a good, fair price from the town. Remember that, won't you?” “I won't forget, Alvin. Good-by.” I left him and went into the bank. Henry Small, the bookkeeper, was at his desk. I walked over to speak to him, but he, looking up from his figures, spoke first. There was, or so it seemed to me, a different note in his greeting. It was more hearty, I thought. Certainly he regarded me with a new and curious interest. “Morning, Ros,” he said. “Well, how are you these days?” I answered that I was well, and was moving on but he detained me. “Lively times ahead, hey,” he whispered. “What sort of times?” I asked. He winked. “I guess you know, if anybody does,” he observed. “All right, you'll have good friends on your side. I ain't saying anything, of course, but I'm on, all right.” He winked again. I walked back to the cashier's window. Taylor had, evidently, seen me talking with the bookkeeper, for he was standing by the little gate, waiting for me. “Hello, Ros,” he said. “Glad to see you. Come in.” George Taylor was a type of smart country boy grown to manhood in the country. His tone, like his manner, was sharp and quick and businesslike, but he spoke with the Down-East twang and used the Cape phrases and metaphors. He was younger than I, but he looked older, and, of late, it had seemed to me that he was growing more nervous. We shook hands. “Glad to see you,” he said again. “I was hoping you'd drift in. I presumed likely you might. Sit down.” I took the proffered chair. He looked at me with much the same curious interest that Small had shown. “We've been hearing about you,” he said. “You've been getting yourself talked about.”