Sawyer studied awhile. "He couldn't take offense at that," he said. "At least no sensible man ought to. Suppose you write me a check payable to him."
McElwin, without replying, made out a check, blotted it and handed it to Sawyer. "Come back and tell me," he said.
Lyman was writing when Sawyer tapped at the open door. "Come in," said the writer. His manner was pleasant and his countenance was genial, and Sawyer, standing at the threshold, felt an encouragement coming to meet him. He stepped forward and Lyman invited him to sit down.
"A little warm," said Lyman.
"Yes, think we'll have rain, soon; the air's so heavy."
"Shouldn't be surprised. It would help farmers when setting out their tobacco plants."
"I reckon you are right. But the farmers would complain anyway, wet or dry. The weather wouldn't suit them, even if they had the ordering of it."
"Well, in that they are not different from the rest of us," said Lyman. "We all grumble."
A short silence followed. Lyman moved some papers. Sawyer coughed slightly. They heard the grinding of the press.