In the room over Peter Potter’s grocery, Jason, every day growing taller, stronger, and developing in mentality, planned for spare time that he might spend at his books and in taking care of the things that he and Peter had salvaged for Mahala without her knowledge. As he had advanced in his work in the grocery, and his benefit to Peter in his business had become pronounced, Peter had generously recompensed him. In the new building, the front room over the grocery had been designed for Jason’s needs. He now had a living room and a small separate bedroom. He had good lights, a table at which to work, a carpet upon his floor. This room was a private place, a personal possession of his. With the exception of Peter Potter and his wife, no one ever had entered it. Jason had no intention that any one should. There were many things in it which most of the people in Ashwater would have recognized.
Here Jason found his refuge; this was his place for meditation, for rest, for study. In the grocery below he worked indefatigably. Every few days fresh signs of the most attractive nature appeared in the windows. These signs, surrounded by attractively displayed goods, had been the means of reinstating Peter Potter. Two other clerks were busy behind his counters. Jason had drilled them according to his own ideas. They were not only efficient, but they were also honest. Peter found himself doing more business than both the other groceries of the town. When he reached this point he made Jason a partner in truth. Aside from a sufficient salary, he recompensed his good work with a third of the profits of the business. He realized that either of the other firms in town would be delighted to add Jason’s ability, his untiring labour, and his personal magnetism to its stock in trade. He knew that he could keep Jason only by making it well worth his while to remain with him.
One day he said admiringly to Jason: “They tell me that young Junior Moreland is pretty keen on a deal, but I’ll wager that he can’t beat you.”
Jason laughed as he replied: “Junior will cut circles around me when it comes to accumulating money because I am forced to be honest and he is forced to be crooked.”
Peter had a way of opening his mouth wide, and then setting the thumb and forefinger of his right hand immediately under his nose, he outlined the orifice. Slowly he indulged in this familiar practice. Finally, when his lips came together, he was looking at Jason, his head tilted to intensify his vision, speculation rampant in his eyes.
“Jason,” he asked suddenly, “who taught you to be honest?”
Jason considered his reply and then he said: “Outside of your grocery and what I learned at school, I can’t remember that any one ever taught me anything. Marcia never did, and when she let Martin Moreland beat me when I did not deserve beating, I began to feel that she was not even my mother.”
Once again Peter outlined a circle back of which his tongue worked, and then he asked another leading question. “By what right did Martin Moreland come to your house and beat you?”
Jason’s laugh was bitter, while his reply was: “By the right of riches; by superior strength, with the consent of the woman with whom I lived.”
Peter thought this over.