"No, it ain't. You've done your duty like a man. Done as much in your way as I have. Now, if you want to try another county with me, say so. I'll make a thousand dollars this year out o' this thing."
"I guess I'll go back to school."
"All right; I don't blame you for wanting to do that."
"I guess, with what I can earn for father, I can pull through the year. I must get back. I'm awfully obliged to you, Jim."
"That'll do on that," said Hartley, shortly; "you don't owe me anything. We'll finish delivery to-morrow, and be ready to pull out on Friday or Sat."
There was an acute pain in Albert's breast somewhere; he had not analyzed his case at all, and did not now, but the idea of going affected him strongly. It had been so pleasant, that daily return to a lovely girlish presence.
"Yes, sir," Hartley was going on, "I'm going to just quietly leave a book on her centre-table. I don't know as it'll interest her much, but it'll show we appreciate the grub, and so on. By jinks! you don't seem to realize what a worker that woman is! Up five o'clock in the morning—By-the-way, you've been going around with the girl a good deal, and she's introduced you to some first-rate sales; now, if you want to leave her a little something, make it a morocco copy, and charge it to the firm."
Albeit knew that he meant well, but he couldn't, somehow, help saying, ironically:
"Thanks, but I guess one copy of Blaine's Twenty Years will be enough in the house, especially—"
"Well, give her anything you please, and charge it up to the firm. I don't insist on Blaine; only suggested that because—"