“What is it, Alvin?”
“Why, it's this way. I've got a note here in the bank; put it there when I bought the power engine for my cat-boat. Hundred and fifty dollars, 'tis. You're a pretty good friend of George Taylor, cashier here, and I was wonderin' if you'd mind puttin' in a word with him about my gettin' it renewed when it comes due. Just tell him you think I'm all right, and a good risk, or somethin' like that.”
I could not help smiling. Alvin seemed to find encouragement in the smile.
“George thinks consider'ble of you,” he said. “And Captain Jed—he's one of the directors—he will, too, now that you've stood up to Colton. Just put in a word for me, will you? And don't forget I'm a friend of yours, and I'm strong for your gettin' a good, fair price from the town. Remember that, won't you?”
“I won't forget, Alvin. Good-by.”
I left him and went into the bank. Henry Small, the bookkeeper, was at his desk. I walked over to speak to him, but he, looking up from his figures, spoke first. There was, or so it seemed to me, a different note in his greeting. It was more hearty, I thought. Certainly he regarded me with a new and curious interest.
“Morning, Ros,” he said. “Well, how are you these days?”
I answered that I was well, and was moving on but he detained me.
“Lively times ahead, hey,” he whispered.
“What sort of times?” I asked.