When the returns from the public auction of the Spellman furnishings were brought to the Moreland bank, Martin Moreland was dumbfounded that they should have been so small. He talked about going to the new Spellman home and taking an inventory of what had been kept, but when he mentioned it at home, Mrs. Moreland said quietly: “Martin, for your own sake and for the boy’s sake, don’t push that matter any further. There’s a reaction against the Spellmans right now because people can begin to see what big fools they were to do such a lot of things they couldn’t afford, but there’s never a wave breaks on the shore but some of the water runs back to the sea. There’s going to be a considerable backwash in this affair. From what I can see and hear, Mahala’s holding up her head and going at this thing so bravely, that by and by there’s bound to be a reaction. If you press things too hard and cut too close, it’ll be worse for you, for the boy, and for me, too, in the long run. Besides that, from the list of property you’ve attached that I read in the papers, it looks to me like you’ve got about three times what you should have had anyway.” A slow grin overspread the face of Martin Moreland. “Three times?” he said. “Well, maybe. But in interest I usually aim to get about ten per cent. I don’t know why you’d think in a deal like this that I’d be satisfied merely to triple things.” Mrs. Moreland stood very still. Then she looked at her husband reflectively. “Would it be any use for me to ask you,” she said quietly, “to go as light as you can? I don’t often interfere in business. I don’t recall that I ever have before, but I like Mrs. Spellman. I liked Mr. Spellman. I liked all of them. I thought they were fine people, and so did every one else. I can see from the aggregate that you’ve been piling—I mean, Mahlon Spellman’s been piling—up heaps of indebtedness all these years. You shouldn’t have let him do it. His affairs _could_ have been managed——” “Now right here is where you stop,” said Martin Moreland tersely. “You don’t know a damned thing that you’re talking about. You’re only indulging in guess work. If you feel that you have a conscience that must be satisfied in this matter, you come down to the bank and take a look at the notes, the mortgages, and the loans that I’ve made that poor fool, carrying him along, trying in every way to save his property and to help him out, till it got to the place where I just good naturedly had to get the money out of it or run the risk of smashing myself.” Mrs. Moreland closed her lips and stood in meditation. At last she remarked: “They tell me that, stuck up big and white and all painted up fancy as if it were a thing to be proud of, Mahala has got a sign in the front dooryard asking to make over hats and remodel dresses.”