"I thought you knew I wanted it," he said, finally; "I couldn't come sooner."
"I did know. But I thought you needed a lesson. Nobody that wants to get ahead in this world can take their own time. You've got to be a little ahead of other people's time if you really want to make your mark. How's Susan? Got back from her father's yet?"
"No," said the man; "she's going to stay till Thanksgiving. She was so awful tired of the parrot."
"Look out you don't leave her too long—same as the hay," said Mrs. Ray, cheerfully. "Who's that coming up the steps behind you? I can feel the draught as long as you stand there in the crack, but I can't see through your body."
Clay Wright Benton moved aside, and Mrs. Dunstall pushed past him. "I'm sorry I was late about the hay," he said then, and went slowly away. Mrs. Benton and his mother had left very little spirit in him.
"What did he come for?" asked Mrs. Dunstall, shutting the door tightly. "I'm sorry for Susan. She married him for his looks, and looks is all he ever had to give her." The attitude of the community was that of larger communities towards the humbly unsuccessful in life.
"He ain't giving her even looks, any more," said Mrs. Ray; "she's gone home, and his looks is gone heaven knows where. No man was ever so handsome yet that he could rise above needing to shave."
"He'll make his fortune if the dam goes through, though," observed Mrs. Dunstall; "he owns all the land above Ledgeville."
"He'll never see her for dust then," said Mrs. Ray, drily. "She'll leave him to keep house for Gran'ma Benton and the parrot. Well, what did you come for?"
"I was walking by, and I thought I'd just stop and ask you if you'd heard about that Mrs. Lathbun and her daughter staying all night with Sammy Adams? Josiah Bates was up that way for a load of apples and he heard of it."