"Books!" she repeated, wonderingly. "I didn't say anything about books.
I asked you if you was Mr. Cobb."

Another look. "If you're sellin' or peddlin' or agentin' or anything I
don't want none," said the little man. "I'm tellin' you now so's you can
save your breath and mine. I've got all I want."

Thankful looked at him and his surroundings. This ungracious and
unlooked for reception began to have its effect upon her temper; as she
wrote Emily in the letter, her "back fin began to rise." It was on the
tip of her tongue to say that, judging by appearances, he should want a
good many things, politeness among others. But she did not say it.

"I ain't a peddler or a book agent," she declared, crisply. "When I
ask you to buy, seems to me 'twould be time enough to say no. If you're
Solomon Cobb, and I know you are, I've come to see you on business."

The word "business" had an effect. Mr. Cobb swung about in his chair and
regarded her fixedly. There was a slight change in his tone.

"Business, hey?" he repeated. "Well, I'm a business man, ma'am. What
sort of business is it you've got?"

Thankful did not answer the question immediately. Instead she walked
nearer to the desk.

"Yes," she said, slowly, "you're Solomon Cobb. I should know you
anywhere now. And I ain't seen you for twenty year. I presume likely you
don't know me."