"Ahem! That would have been unfortunate for the mortgagee," slowly observed the old man.
"Mr. Cross Moore?" Janice quickly rejoined. "Well! he could afford to lose a little money if anybody could."
"Tut, tut!" exclaimed the elder, who had a vast respect for money.
"Don't say that, child. Nobody can afford to lose money."
Janice turned her car about soberly. She saw that the ramification of this liquor selling business was far-reaching, indeed. Elder Concannon spoke only too truly.
Where self-interest was concerned most people would lean toward the side of liquor selling.
"The tentacles of the monster have insinuated themselves into our social and business life, as well as into our homes," she thought. "Why—why, what can I do about it? Just me, a girl all alone."
CHAPTER VII
SWEPT ON BY THE CURRENT
Janice picked up Trimmins on the road to town. The lanky Southerner, who lived as a squatter with his ever-increasing family back in the woods, was a soft-spoken man with much innate politeness and a great distaste for regular work. He said the elder had just offered him a job in the woods that he was going to take if he could get a man to help him.
"I heard you talking about it, Mr. Trimmins," the young girl said, with her eyes on the road ahead and her foot on the gas pedal. "I hope you will make a good thing out of it."