Again the bell tinkled, and McHurdie went into the shop. Evidently a customer was looking at a horse collar, for through the glass door they could see Watts' hook go up to the ceiling and bring one down.
"John," said the colonel, when Barclay had spoken, "John, don't mind it. Look at me, John—look at me! They had to put me in jail, you know; but every one seems to have forgotten it but me—and I am a dog that I don't."
John Barclay looked at the old, broken man, discarded from the playing-cards of life, with the hurt, surprised look always in his eyes, and it was with an effort that the suave Mr. Barclay kept the choke in his throat out of his voice as he replied:—
"Yes, Colonel, yes, I know I have no right to kick against the pricks."
Watts was saying: "Yes, he's in there now—with the boys; you better go in and cheer him up."
And then at the upper right-hand entrance entered Gabriel Carnine, president of the State Bank, unctuous as a bishop. He ignored the others, and walking to Barclay, put out his hand. "Well, well, John, glad to see you; just came up from the mill—I was looking for you. Couldn't find Neal, either. Where is he?"
The general answered curtly, "Neal is in Chicago, working on the Record-Herald."
"Oh," returned Carnine, and did not pursue the subject further. "Well, gentlemen," he said, "fine winter weather we're having."
"Is that so?" chipped in Dolan. "Mr. Barclay was finding it a little mite warm."
Carnine ignored Dolan, and Barclay grinned. "Well, John," Carnine hesitated, "I was just down to see you—on a little matter of business."