drivah yestaday Ah already got a gret abundance to mek evabody comf'table, an' a little bit oveh, but he jes' sais, 'Oh, tha's all raght,' an so fothe, an' he still is a-bringin' it. Lohks ve'y strongly lahk he ain't go'n' a' stop at mah implications. Mahstah Majah, maght happen lahk he'd ack mo' reasonin' ef yo' was t' have a good long talk with him."
"Oh, he hasn't anything to do with it. He only brings what your Miss Caroline has shipped. She shouldn't have sent so much, that's all."
He took the troubling bills again.
"Yo' sounds raght, Mahstah Majah—you suttinly do sound raght! Ah gaiss Ah got a' raise ten hund'ed thousan pulletts an mo'."
For three more days the juggernaut of Sam Murdock's dray hauled heavy furniture over the prostrate spirit of Clem. Faster than he could unpack the stuff was it unpiled at his door. And it was poor stuff, moreover, in the opinion of Little Arcady. Clem's history was known, of course, and during these busy days the town made it a point to pass his door in friendly curiosity about the belongings of his mistress. When these could not be satisfactorily appraised from the yard, they sauntered up to the porch and surveyed Clem in the front room at his work of unpacking and cleaning. Often, indeed, some kindly disposed observer with time to spare would lend a hand in freeing some heavy bit of mahogany from its crate or wrappings.
The public opinion, thus advantageously formed,
