Amzi glanced toward the empty counting-room where a single clerk was sealing the mail.
"Tom's trying to save it. And I've been buying those things myself at seventy."
"You think it's a good buy at that? Going to clean up something out of it?"
Amzi flushed, and moved uneasily in his seat.
"No. That's not just the way of it. I don't want to make any money out of it; neither does Tom. We're trying to protect the honest people around here at home who put their money into that scheme. Sam and Bill Holton made a big play for small investors, and a lot of people put their savings into it—the kind o' folks who scrimp to save a dollar a week. Tom's trying to sift out the truth about the building of the line, and if he can force the surrender of the construction company's graft over and above the fair cost of the road, Sycamore will be all right. Your bonds are good, I think. People have been up in the air over the rumors, and anxious to sell at any price. What I'm doing, Lois, as far as I'm able—"
He fidgeted uneasily, seemingly reluctant to disclose just what he was doing.
"Well," she said impatiently.
"I'm picking up all I can from these little fellows—farmers, widows, and so on, and if Tom works out his scheme and the bonds are good, I'm going to let them have them back. That's all," he ended shamefacedly; and added, as though such a piece of quixotism required justification to a woman who had rolled up a fortune and was therefore likely to be critical of business methods, "I suppose I'd be entitled to interest."
"I suppose you would, you gay Napoleon of finance!" She looked at him musingly with good humor and affection in her fine eyes.
"I sort o' like this old town, Lois, and I don't want any harm to come to the folks—particularly these little fellows that don't know how to take care of themselves."