"All right, Jim! say your say."

"Well, sir, you'll likely think I'm sticking my nose into what doesn't
concern me. 'Tain't a very nice thing I've got to say, but if I don't
say it I don't know who in thunder will; and, as it's my private opinion
that somebody ought to, I'll just pitch in."

"Very good; pitch in."

"Very good it is then. Only it ain't. Very bad, more like. It's a nasty
mess, and no mistake! and there's the cause of it!" pointing his brawny
hand towards the door, upon which was marked, "Office. Private," and
sniffing as though he smelt something bad in the air.

"You don't mean my father!" flame shooting from the clear eyes.

"Be damned if I do. Beg pardon. Of course I don't. I mean the fellow as
is perched up on a high stool in that there office, this very minute,
poking into his books."

"Franklin?"

"You've hit it. Franklin,--Abe Franklin,--that's the ticket."

"What's the matter with him? what has he done?"

"Done? nothing! not as I know of, anyway, except what's right and
proper. 'Tain't what he's done or's like to do. It's what he is."

"And what may that be?"