"No, it keeps me alive. I got a chance to hear people's troubles and understand what they're fighting against, and I'm seein' life and gettin' a chance to help people in my own way." "But don't they impose upon you? Aren't lots of the people dishonest?" "Well, I don't do nothin' sudden. I hear 'em talk and then I git Dr. Eaton to find out if it's true; and he's a clever young man, Mis' Carrington--they're pretty sharp to git around him. We call it the Doane Eaton Associated Charities. But"--laughing--"I'm awful selfish in it. I like people, and I like to be in their lives, and if I done what Mr. Thornton wanted me to do, I'd set here and die of dry rot." James entered then, followed by a little man who bowed awkwardly to Miss Doane. "This is Mr. Henderson, Miss Doane," James said. Drusilla looked at him critically. "Set down, Mr. Henderson. James tells me that you are in trouble." "Yes, Miss Doane. I hardly know which way to turn. Mr. Hawkins told me you might be good enough to help me." "What is it you want? You are the laundry man, ain't you?" "Yes; I have done the outside work for the place here for twelve years, and"--turning to Mrs. Carrington--"I think Mrs. Carrington will remember me. I work for her and worked for her mother before her." "Certainly I know you, Mr. Henderson," said Mrs. Carrington. "I remember I used to coax you for a ride in your wagon when I was a little girl." The man smiled. "Yes, I've given all the children in Brookvale a ride some time or other." "Now that we know who you are," said Drusilla, "jest tell me what the trouble is." "It's this way, Miss Doane. The last year business has been bad and I have had to buy new machinery, and I put a mortgage on the place to pay for the machines, and then my wife was sick for most eight months and the doctor's bills and the nurses eat up all my ready money, and I find I'm in a corner and can't pay the interest on the mortgage, and can't get good help, because I can't pay the wages. I'm afraid I will lose my business." "Is it a good business?" "Yes. It's always been able to give me a good livin', nothin' more, but it's all I got, and I don't know nothin' else to do. If I lose it I'll have to go into some one else's laundry, and it's hard after fifteen years--" He looked down with a catch in his voice. "How much will it take to put you on your feet?" "If I could get eight hundred dollars it would pay up the debts that's pressin' me and would give me a start." "Can't you borrow at the bank?" "No, because I've no security. The place is mortgaged all it can stand."