repeated, with his characteristic emphasis. "I don't see how a man as
big an' hearty as you look an' weighin' as much could git sick or even
_tired_ without havin' any more work to do than you have. I've always
meant to ask you or Mr. Saunders what you fellers do, _anyway._ I
reckon banks are the same in big towns as in little ones. They haven't
got a regular bank here in Ridgeville, but I've been to the one in
Darley. I went in with Tom when he wanted to draw the cash on a cotton
check. Talk about hard work--I'll swear I couldn't see it. Me 'n' Tom
had been up fully three hours knockin' about the streets tryin' to
kill the best part o' the day before that shebang opened up for
business, an' _then_ somebody said they shet up at three o'clock an'
went home to take a nap or whiz about in their automobiles. The whole
thing's bothered me a sight, for I _do_ like to understand things. How
_could_ a checker-playin' business like that tire anybody?"

"It's head-work," Mostyn obligingly explained, as he followed John
into the buggy and sat beside him. _"Head-work,"_ Webb echoed, the
cloud still on his brow. He clucked to his horse and gently shook
the reins. "To save me I don't see how head-work--if there is such a
thing--could tire out a man's legs and arms and body."

"There is a good deal of worry attached to it," Mostyn felt impelled
to say. "Nowadays they are saying that worry will kill a man quicker
than any sort of physical ailment. You see, good sound sleep is
necessary, and when a man is greatly bothered he simply can't sleep."

"Oh, I see, I see," Webb's blue eyes flashed. "Thar may be something
in that, but it does seem like a man would have more gumption 'an to
worry hisse'f to death about something that won't be of use to 'im
after he dies. That's common sense, ain't it?"