blood-letting side stabs of her sex, she had often shown her disapproval
of the strong favor in which the Major held him; she vowed that her
husband had gathered many an oath from Gid's swollen store of execration
(when, in truth, Gid had been an apt pupil under the Major), and she had
hoped that the Major's attachment to the church would of necessity free
him from the humiliating association with the old sinner, but it did
not, for they continued to ride abroad, laughing along the road.

Like a skittish horse old Gid shied at the office door. Once he had
crossed that threshold and it had cost him a crop of cotton.

"How are you, John?" was Gid's salutation as he edged off, still fanning
himself.

"How are you, sir?" was the Major's stiff recognition of the fact that
Gid was on earth.

"Getting hotter, I believe, John."

"I presume it is, sir." The Major sat with his elbow resting on a desk,
and about him were stacked threatening bundles of papers; and old Gid
knew that in those commercial romances he himself was a familiar
character.

"Are you busy, John?"

"Yes, but you may come in."

"No, I thank you. Don't believe I've got time."