Moses that hit the rock and the water gushed out, wa'n't it? Um--hm!
Well, that was somethin' of a miracle, but strikin' Jerry Clifford for
ten cents and gettin' it would be a bigger one. Why, that feller's got
fists like--like one of those sensitive plants my mother used to have
in the settin'-room window when I was a boy. You touch a leaf of one
of those plants and 'twould shrivel up tight. Jerry's fists are that
way--touch one of 'em with a nickel and 'twill shut up, but not until
the nickel's inside. No, sir! Ho, ho!"

"If you knew all this, Uncle Shad," suggested Mary, "why in the world
did you sell Mr. Clifford at all? If he wouldn't pay, why sell him?"

Mr. Hamilton answered.

"He always did pay," he said. "You see, he had to have groceries and
clothes and such and whenever he needed more and thought he owed us so
much we wouldn't put more on the bill he'd pay a little on account. That
way we managed to keep up with him."

"Not exactly up with him," commented the Captain. "We was always a
couple of laps astern, but we could keep him in sight. Now the new
stores have come and he can get trusted there he don't buy from us--or
pay, either. What's the use? That's what he thinks, I cal'late."

Mary considered. "The mean old sinner!" she said. "I should judge, Uncle
Shad, that what you told me once, when I was a little girl, about the
Free Masons might apply to Mr. Clifford's pocketbook. You said that once
in Masonry a man never got out. A dollar in Mr. Clifford's pocketbook
never gets out, either, does it?"