Oh, that word "our"! Used so freely, it rejoiced me. He intended this affair to mark some epoch in his life and mine. I waited for him to say something further. But, instead, he turned to the business in hand and we set to work. To be sure the "auditing" on my part was a mere farce; for not only did Mr. Ewart do most of the counting, and making into bundles of a hundred, but he insisted on my not bending close over the currency to watch him. As I told him, "After asking me to help you, you keep me at arm's distance."
Whereupon he smiled in an amused way, and said engagingly, but firmly:
"There is no question of my keeping you at a distance. Don't mind my crotchets, Miss Farrell, I have a fancy to have you here with me at the obsequies of all this sixteenth-in-the-twentieth century nonsense. At forty-six, I still have my dreams. You 'll be good enough to indulge me, won't you?"
"If that's all, I think I can indulge you. But is there nothing I can do to be of some real help?"
"Nothing but to lend me your companionship during this trying ordeal. You might fill out some labels—you 'll find them in that handy-box on the desk—with the words 'hundred' and 'fifty', and I 'll gum them on to these slips for the money rolls."
For a few minutes I busied myself with the labels. After that, I watched his swift counting of bills and silver, and his ordering them into neat packages and rolls. Before long, however, I took matters into my own gloved hand and, without so much as "by your leave", began the recount, labelling as I went on. Within an hour the work was finished and a smaller tin box packed.
"How much did you make it?" he asked, before locking the box.
"Three thousand four hundred and twenty-two, just."
"The rate of interest I charge them is two per cent, and this amount will reduce that greatly."
"Do you mean that you are letting them have the land, supplying money to help them cultivate it, and charging only two per cent interest?"