“Yes, that is my name,” said Melville, looking puzzled; “I don't remember you. Have I met you before?”
“You saw me in father's store, very likely,” said Eben. “I am Eben Graham, son of Ebenezer Graham, the postmaster.”
“Indeed! That accounts for your face looking familiar. You resemble your father very closely.”
“I'm a chip off the old block with modern improvements,” said Eben, smirking. “Father's always lived in the country, and he ain't very stylish. I've been employed in Boston for a couple of years past, and got a little city polish.”
“You don't show much of it,” thought Melville, but he refrained from saying so.
“So you have come home to assist your father,” he said, politely.
“Well, no, not exactly,” answered Eben, “I feel that a country store isn't my sphere.”
“Then you propose to go back to the city?”
“Probably I shall do so eventually, but I may stay here in Wayneboro a while if I can make satisfactory arrangements. I assure you that it was not my wish to take Herbert Carr's place.”
“Herbert told me that you had assumed his duties.”