that's about all you do. 'Take Ros,' says I. 'He might be to work. He
was in a bank up to the city once and he knows the bankin' trade. He
might be at it now, but what would be the use?' I says. 'He's got enough
to live on and he lives on it, 'stead of keepin' some poor feller out of
a job.' That's right, too, ain't it?"

I didn't answer at once. There was no reason why I should be irritated
because Luther Rogers had held me up as a shining example of the
do-nothing class to the crowd of hangers-on in a country post-office.
What did I care for Denboro opinion? Six years in that gossipy village
had made me, so I thought, capable of rising above such things.

"Well," I asked after a moment, "what did they say to that?"

"Oh, nothin' much. They couldn't; I had 'em, you see. Some of 'em
laughed and old Cap'n Jed he hove out somethin' about birds of a feather
stickin' up for each other. No sense to it. But, as I said afore, what
can you expect of a Democrat?"

I turned on my heel and moved toward the back gate. "Ain't goin', be
you?" asked Lute. "Hadn't you better set down and rest your breakfast a
spell?"

"No, I'm going. By the way, if you're through with that tobacco pouch of
mine, I'll take it off your hands. I may want to smoke by and by."

Lute coolly explained that he had forgotten the pouch; it had "gone
clean out of his head." However, he handed it over and I left him seated
on the wash bench, with his head tipped back against the shingles. I
opened the gate and strolled slowly along the path by the edge of the