As they started for the stairs, Jethro and Cynthia leading the way,
Wetherell felt a touch on his elbow and turned to confront Mr. Bijah
Bixby--at very close range, as usual.

"C-come down at last, Will?" he said. "Thought ye would. Need everybody
this time--you understand."

"I came on pleasure," retorted Mr. Wetherell, somewhat angrily.

Mr. Bixby appeared hugely to enjoy the joke.

"So I callated," he cried, still holding Wetherell's hand in a mild, but
persuasive grip. "So I callated. Guess I done you an injustice, Will."

"How's that?"

"You're a leetle mite smarter than I thought you was. So long. Got a
leetle business now--you understand a leetle business."

Was it possible, indeed, for the simple-minded to come to the capital and
not become involved in cabals? With some misgivings William Wetherell
watched Mr. Bixby disappear among the throng, kicking up his heels
behind, and then went upstairs. On the first floor Cynthia was standing
by an open door.

"Dad," she cried, "come and see the rooms Uncle Jethro's got for us!" She
took Wetherell's hand and led him in. "See the lace curtains, and the
chandelier, and the big bureau with the marble top."