Next beyond the barbershop, which is two doors beyond the general store
and postoffice, was a little one-story building, weather-beaten and
badly in need of paint. The captain steered his "craft" up to the
sidewalk before this building and pulled up.

"Whoa!" he ordered, addressing the horse. Then, turning to Thankful, he
said:

"Here you are, ma'am. This is Sol Cobb's place."

Mrs. Barnes looked at the little building. Its exterior certainly was
not inviting. The windows looked as if they had not been washed for
weeks, the window shades were yellow and crooked, and one of the panes
of glass in the front door was cracked across. Thankful had not seen her
"Cousin Solomon" for years, not since she was a young woman, but she had
heard stories of his numerous investments and business prosperity, and
she could scarcely believe this dingy establishment was his.

"Are you sure, Cap'n Bangs?" she faltered. "This can't be the Solomon
Cobb I mean. He's well off and it don't seem as if he would be in an
office like this--if 'tis an office," she added. "It looks more like a
henhouse to me. And there's no signs anywhere."

The captain laughed. "Signs cost money," he said. "It takes paint to
make a sign, same as it does to keep a henhouse lookin' respectable.
This is the only Sol Cobb in Trumet, fur's I ever heard, and he's well
off, sartin. He ought to be; I never heard of him lettin' go of anything
he got hold of. Maybe you think I'm talkin' pretty free about your
relation, Mrs. Barnes," he added, apologetically. "I hadn't ought to, I
suppose, but I've had one or two little dealin's with Sol, one time or