“If you ever have a small surplus to invest, Mr. Blodgett, I may be able to put you in the way of making something out of it.”
“Thank you, General Wall. Maybe I’ll remind you of it some day. I might have a little over.”
“No matter how little. I can add it to some of my own funds. I should like to help you to make a little something.”
“Thank you, general. I’m much obliged to you. I’ll talk to Betsy about it, and maybe I’ll see you again.”
“Any time, Mr. Blodgett. It’s no object to me, of course, but I like to see my neighbors prosperous.”
The conversation now took another turn, in which Walter was not so much interested. He wondered whether General Wall really meant honestly by the farmer, or whether he only wanted to get his money into his possession.
He was not naturally suspicious, but knowing what he did of Wall he felt inclined to doubt whether he was quite as disinterested as he appeared.
They had a little more than half completed the ten miles which separated them from Portville, when a passenger got out. This left a vacancy, and John Wall, descending from his elevated perch, made his appearance at the door of the coach.
“Did you get much rain, John?” asked his father.
“My kid gloves are spoiled,” grumbled John.