“I shall consult Mrs. Gwynne,” he said, “and let you know in a few days.”
“Don't know as I can wait that long,” said Mr. Martin. “I made the offer to oblige you, and besides I got a chance at the Monroe fifty.”
“Call to-morrow night,” said Mr. Gwynne, and carried the proposal home to his wife.
The suggestion to break up her home to a woman of Mrs. Gwynne's type is almost shattering. In the big world full of nameless terrors the one spot offering shelter and safety for herself and her family was her home. But after all, her husband was her great concern, and she could see he was eager for the change. She made up her mind to the sacrifice and decided that she would break up the home in Mapleton and with her husband try again their fortune.
“But four thousand dollars,” she said, “is surely a small price.”
“Small? I know it is small, but Martin knows I am in a corner. He is a highway robber.”
It was a bitter experience for him to be forced to confess himself a business failure, and with this bitterness there mingled a feeling of hostility toward all successful business men. To him it seemed that in order to win success in business a man must become, like Mr. Martin, a highway robber. In this mood of bitterness and hostility toward successful men, Mr. Sleighter found him the next day.
“Couldn't find you at the store,” said that gentleman, walking in with his hat on his head. “I wanted to get this business straightened up, so I just came in. Won't take more than five minutes. I guess you won't mind taking a little check from me. Your business turned out better than that fool of an assignee thought. Don't hurt me any, of course. I got all that was comin' to me out of it, but here's this check. Perhaps you'll sign the receipt. I guess they been puttin' it over you all right. You're a little too soft with 'em.”
Mr. Gwynne was an even-tempered man, but Mr. Sleighter's patronising manner and his criticism of his business ability wrought in him a rage that he could with difficulty control. He remembered he was in his own house, however, and that the man before him was a stranger. While he was searching for pen and ink the door opened and his wife entered the room. Mr. Sleighter, with his hat still upon his head, was intently gazing out of the window, easily rocking on the two hind legs of the chair. The door opened behind him.
“My dear,” said Mr. Gwynne, “will you excuse me? I am engaged.”