He stopped, looked at me, and then seized me by the arm.
“See here!” he cried, “I'm lost in the fog, I guess likely. What do you mean by that? Is it time to laugh—or what?”
“It may be; I don't know. But I take the bookkeeper's position in your bank. Now, good-by. Don't talk to me. I don't feel like talking.”
“But—but, Ros.”
“Good-by.”
I walked on. I had taken but a few steps when he overtook me.
“Ros,” he said, “I ain't going to say but just one thing. If you meant what you said I'm the most tickled man on the Cape. But you ain't asked a word about the salary.”
“I know it. I haven't asked because I don't care. I'll be on hand in the morning.”
I left him standing there, and hurried down the Lower Road. As I had said to him, I did not feel like talking. I did not want even to see any one. I wanted to be let alone. But it was fated that I should not be, not yet. Sim Eldredge was waiting for me around the corner. He stepped out from behind the fence where he had been hidden.
“Ros!” he whispered. “Ros Paine! Wait. It's me, Sim. I want to ask you somethin'. Wan't that George Taylor you was speakin' to just now?”