you're an artist,' I said, watching to see how he'd take it. 'Yes,' he said, 'just the way a drop of water thinks it's a river.' Oh, there's something solid about Bill. Nobody's going to stampede him."
Bert nodded, and sat there silent. That strange restlessness was on him again. The man fell to whistling a tune, and broke it off abruptly.
"Bill tells me, Bert, that you're in this thing."
"Yes, sir. The store opens a week from to-day."
"What does your father think of it?"
"He's sore."
"I thought he would be," said the Butterfly Man, and silence came again.
Never had a visit to this place of enchantment gone so dismally. Bert said, after a time, that he thought he had better make a break for home. The Butterfly Man roused himself.
"I think I'll run in to Springham and see how much the town has grown. I'll get the car and drive you in. We can put your bicycle in the rear."
Bert gave a feeble grin. The plot was transparent. He was not surprised when, as they ran into the town, the man said:
"Suppose you give me a look at your store. It may be an age before I come to Springham again, and I'd like to get a look at it while I'm here."
So Bert unlocked the door and turned on the
