Mr. Worthington had uncrossed his legs, and was now by the inspiration of
his words impelled to an upright position. Suddenly he glanced at Jethro,
and started for Jethro had sunk down on the small of his back, his chin
on his chest, in an attitude of lassitude if not of oblivion. There was a
silence perhaps a little disconcerting for Mr. Worthington, who chose the
opportunity to relight his cigar.

"G-got through?" said Jethro, without moving, "g-got through?"

"Through?" echoed Mr. Worthington, "through what?"

"T-through Sunday-school," said Jethro.

Worthington dropped his match and stamped on it, and Wetherell began to
wonder how much the man would stand. It suddenly came over the
storekeeper that the predicament in which Mr. Worthington found himself
whatever it was--must be a very desperate one. He half rose in his chair,
sat down again, and lighted another match.

"Er--director in the Truro Road, hain't you, Mr. Worthington?" asked
Jethro, without looking at him.

"Yes."

"Er--principal stockholder--ain't you?"

"Yes--but that is neither here nor there, sir."

"Road don't pay--r-road don't pay, does it?"