Charles would drop
in at the shop of a morning, in the interval between breakfast and
bank opening, and, perching on a pile of stock, or the workbench,
would discuss various things. He and Jed were alike in one
characteristic--each had the habit of absent-mindedness and lapsing
into silence in the middle of a conversation. Jed's lapses, of
course, were likely to occur in the middle of a sentence, even in
the middle of a word; with the younger man the symptoms were not so
acute.
"Well, Charlie," observed Mr. Winslow, on one occasion, a raw
November morning of the week before Thanksgiving, "how's the bank
gettin' along?"
Charles was a bit more silent that morning than he had been of
late. He appeared to be somewhat reflective, even somber. Jed, on
the lookout for just such symptoms, was trying to cheer him up.
"Oh, all right enough, I guess," was the reply.
"Like your work as well as ever, don't you?"
"Yes--oh, yes, I like it, what there is of it. It isn't what you'd
call strenuous."
"No, I presume likely not, but I shouldn't wonder if they gave you
somethin' more responsible some of these days. They know you're up
to doin' it; Cap'n Sam's told me so more'n once."
Here occurred one of the lapses just mentioned. Phillips said
nothing for a minute or more. Then he asked: "What sort of a man
is Captain Hunniwell?"
"Eh? What sort of a man? You ought to know him yourself pretty
well by this time.
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