Mam' Linda

Near the front door the store-keeper, James Blackburn, a portly, bearded man of forty-five, sat chatting with Carson Dwight, a young lawyer of the town.

ÒI donÕt want any of you boys to think that IÕm complaining,Ó the elder man was saying. ÒIÕve been young myself; in fact, as you know, I go the gaits too, considering that IÕm tied down by a family and have a living to make. I love to have the gang aroundÑI swear I do, though sometimes I declare it looks like this old shebang is more of a place of amusement than a business house in good standing.Ó

ÒOh, I know we hang around here too much,Ó Carson Dwight replied; Òand you ought to kick us out, the last one of us.Ó

ÒOh, it isnÕt so bad at night like this, when tradeÕs over, but it is sort oÕ embarrassing during the day. Why, what do you think? A Bradstreet commercial reporter was in the other day to get a statement of my standing, and while he was here Keith GordonÑlook at him now, the scamp! holding his cards over his head; thatÕs a bluff. IÕll bet he hasnÕt got a ten-spot. While that agent was here Keith and a lot more of your gang were back there on the platform dancing a hoe-down. The dust was so thick you couldnÕt see the windows. The reporter looked surprised, but he didnÕt say anything. I told him I thought IÕd be able to pay for all I bought in market, and that I had no idea how much I was worth. I havenÕt invoiced my stock in ten years. When I run low I manage to replenish somehow, and so it goes on from year to year.Ó

ÒWell, I am going to talk to the boys,Ó Dwight said. ÒThey are taking advantage of your goodnature. The whole truth is they consider you one of them, Jim. Marrying didnÕt change you. You are as full of devilment as any of the rest, and they know it, and love to hang around you.Ó