"Well, well—that's curious," said the ragman, by this time perched aloft again and shaking the reins over the high, lean haunches of his horse; "good day, Mrs. Deans; you have a fine place here."
"Good morning. When'll you be back? Be sure you call."
"I'll be round in a couple of months again. Good morning," he replied, as his van jolted away.
"It seems to me," said he, soliloquizing, "that Mrs. Deans has washed more'n she can hang out! Jed Holder's daughter can keep her month shet if she makes up her mind to it; I knowed Jed."
This ragman had not gathered the rags of Jamestown for thirty years without acquiring some knowledge of the people. "I kin read 'em by their rags," he used to tell his wife.
He was justified in doubting Mrs. Deans' ability to perform the task she had set herself—to fathom Myron's secret.
"That girl of Jed Holder's has made a fine job of herself!" the ragman said to old Mr. Carroll, as he drove homeward in the evening.
"Yes," said old Carroll; "women are a bad lot, a bad, scheming lot."
"Oh, come, come; you'll be getting married to some young girl one of these fine days," retorted the astute ragman.
"I—no, sir; not such a fool," snorted the old man, highly pleased. "Will you come in and have a drop?"