"I mean I've got to go—to go always from place to place—but I'll leave you here in my stead." He laughed shortly, but there was no merriment in the sound. "I'll run the mills on the cooperative plan, Baxter, and I'll leave you in charge of them—you and Banks." Then he caught Baxter's arm with both hands, and turned his body forcibly in the direction of the church at the top of the hill. "While we are talking those people down there are freezing," he said.
"An' so am I, if you don't mind my mentionin' it," observed Baxter meekly.
"Then let's go to Trend's. There's not a minute to lose, if we are to save the mills. Are you coming, Baxter?"
"Oh, I'm comin'," replied Baxter, waddling in his shaggy coat like a great black bear, "but I'd like to git up my wind first," he added, puffing clouds of steam as he ascended the hill.
"There's no time for that," returned Ordway, sharply, as he dragged him along.
When they reached Jasper Trend's gate, a policeman, who strolled, beating his hands together, on the board walk, came up and stopped them as they were about to enter. Then recognising Baxter, he apologised and moved on. A moment later the sound of their footsteps on the porch brought the head of Banks to the crack of the door.
"Who are you? and what is your business?" he demanded.
"Banks!" said Ordway in a whisper, and at his voice the bar, which Banks had slipped from the door, fell with a loud crash from his hands.
"Good Lord, it's really you, Smith!" he cried in a delirium of joy.
"Harry, be careful or you'll wake the baby," called a voice softly from the top of the staircase.