THE STEADFAST HEART
took Sheriff Bates out there to git himself killed…. Perty kittle of fish, that’s what I say.”
Gene slammed shut his ledger and Chet devoted himself to thumbing over a pile of notes and mortgages; but neither could set his mind on his work. Both were wondering what was going on behind Henry G. Woodhouse’s door….
In the privacy of that room the old gentleman motioned Angus to a chair, and the boy sat down diffidently. Mr. Woodhouse regarded him and felt a certain satisfaction—as if he had had something to do with arranging the boy’s features. They were highly satisfactory features—if only they were a trifle more mobile, a bit less grave—and if that set, almost strained expression could be made to disappear.
“Are you good at figures, Angus?” he asked.
“I’m not very quick, sir—but—” He hesitated.
“But in the end you generally get the right answer…. Is that what you were going to say?”
Angus moved his feet in embarrassment. “I—I almost always got my arithmetic right in school,” he said, “but sometimes it took me an awful long time. I’ve had to sit up—almost all night to work out an example.”
Mr. Woodhouse thought that this dogged determination, this laborious demand for ac-
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