Craig's face beamed; he pulled his beard; his eyes danced.
“I'm glad there are men in the world like you, Baker,” he said. “I say I'm glad, and I mean it.”
Fincher had begun to look over the figures in his book, and walked to the front.
“Oh, my friendship ain't wuth nothin',” said Pole. “I know that. I never was in the shape to he'p nobody, but I know when a man' s treated right or wrong.”
“Well, if you ever need assistance, and I can help you, don't fail to call on me,” Craig spoke with a tone of sincerity.
Pole took a deep breath and lowered his voice, glancing cautiously into the house, as if fearful of being overheard.
“Well, I do need advice, Mr. Craig,” he said. “Not money, nor nothin' expensive, but I've laid awake night after night wishing 'at I could run on some man of experience that I could ax fer advice, an' that I could trust. Mr. Craig, I 'll be blamed ef I don't feel like tellin' you some 'n' that never has passed my lips.”
Craig stared in interested astonishment. “Well, you can trust me, Baker,” he said; “and if I can advise you, why, I 'll do it with pleasure.”
There was a cotton compress near by, with its vast sheds and platforms, and Pole looked at it steadily. He thrust his hand into his pants pocket and kept it there for a full minute. Then he shook his head, drew out his hand, and said: “I reckon I won't bother you to-day, Mr. Craig. Some day I 'll come in town an' tell you, but—” Pole looked at the sun. “I reckon I'd better be goin'.”
“Hold on,” Craig caught Pole's arm. The exbanker was a natural man. Despite his recent troubles, he had his share of curiosity, and Pole's manner and words had roused it to unwonted activity. “Hold on,” he said. “What's your hurry? I've got time to spare if you have.”