"I guess there wouldn't be any trouble about that," returned the deacon, whose meanness ran in a different channel from his wife's, and who took less note of what was eaten at his table. "Ef you think you'd like to engage, and we could make a bargain, you might begin next week."
"Jest so," said Ben.
The deacon looked at him rather sharply, but Ben didn't appear to intend any disrespect in repeating his favorite phrase.
"Did your father leave you much?" inquired Deacon Pitkin.
"A few hundred dollars," said Ben carelessly.
"Indeed!" said the deacon, gratified. "What are you goin' to do with it?"
"Uncle Job thinks it would be best to put it in the bank."
"Jest so. It would fetch you some interest every year-enough to clothe you, likely. I'll tell you what I'll do, Ben. I'll give you your board the first year, and your interest will buy your clothes. The second year I'll give you twenty dollars and board, and maybe twenty more the third year."
Ben shook his head.
"I guess we can't make a bargain, Deacon Pitkin," he said.