One noon Nan was munching an apple while waiting for Mrs. Copeland’s man to carry out the empty crates and boxes, when Jerry appeared, looking unusually solemn.
“What’s wrong with the world? You’re not out of work, are you?” she demanded.
“I hoped you’d ask me,” he replied, with mock dejection. “The boss has been making a few changes at the store and I’ve got a new job.”
“Better or worse?” she asked, with feigned carelessness.
This was the first time he had referred to Copeland since her removal to the farm; and there were still vast areas of ignorance and uncertainty in his mind as to her feeling toward Copeland.
“Better for me; I don’t know about the house,” he answered. “Hasn’t anybody told you everything that’s happened down our way?” He seated himself on the counter and clasped one knee with his gloved hands. “Well, we’ve reorganized; just about everything’s changed except the sign. Boss steady as a rock; things rather coming his way now. You heard about Kinney Cement? There was never any doubt about Cecil winning the patent cases; and now the boss has sold out his interest—quit cement for good and all; concentrating on drugs. I guess he got a good price for his cement stock, too.”
He waited to see how she was affected by these confidences.
“The drug business was in a bad way, wasn’t it?” she asked carelessly.
“Um, well; it did look for a few minutes as though we mightn’t pull through.”
She laughed at his lightly emphasized “we.”