“No,” said Harlan. “You wouldn’t, because he is doing just about that. I believe he has five or six darkies helping him; but he keeps overalls for himself out there in a shed. He gets up before six, drives out in his runabout, with a nose-bag of oats for his horse under the seat, and he gets home after dark ready to drop, but still talking about what a success he’s going to make of the great and only ‘Ornaby Addition.’ He wears shabby clothes all the time—he seems not to care at all how he looks—and Saturdays he comes home at noon and spends the rest of the day downtown making orations to bankers and business men, especially your father.”
“To no effect at all,” Martha said gloomily.
“Oh, but I think he’s had an extraordinarily distinct effect!”
“What effect is it?”
“Well, I’m afraid,” Harlan said slowly;—“I’m afraid he’s been successful in making himself the laughing stock of the town.”
“They—they think he’s just a joke?”
“Not ‘just’ one,” the precise Harlan replied. “They think he’s the biggest one they’ve ever seen.”
Martha uttered a sound of angry protest, though she did not speak at once, but stared frowningly at the fire; then she turned abruptly to Harlan. “Why don’t you help him?”
“I? Well, he hasn’t asked me to help him, precisely. Did he tell you I——”
“No; he didn’t say anything about you. But why don’t you?”