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"Very good, Abner, that's very good. I hope you'll use your little nest egg wisely, to the benefit of yourself and the glory of God."

Abner agreed vaguely to this vague suggestion.

The banker rubbed his thin bony hands together. "Your grandfather was old Judge Jefferson Coltrane, was he not, my boy?"

Abner drawled an affirmative, studying the cashier's bony face.

"Old Judge Jefferson Coltrane, he and my father were great friends, Abner, that's one of the reasons I called you around here, my boy; you've come into our midst more or less alone and on account of the friendship of my family for yours"—here Mr. Northcutt glanced at one of the men in the office—"you know we folks here in the South are great sticklers for families, Mr. Ditmas, when a boy like this comes from a good family—" the banker broke off, smiling with bloodless benevolence.

Abner glanced around and was surprised to see a man whom he knew. This Mr. Ditmas was an engineer, and Abner had seen him working on the right-of-way of Railroad Jones's new road near the poorhouse.

"Yes, I'd observed that," returned Ditmas in an agreeable manner. "I think it's a fine old custom."

"Quite so," nodded the banker. "You know, Mr. Ditmas, I think we Southern people—you mustn't take offence—" the cashier smiled placatingly, "but I tihnk we stand just a little closer to God than—er—"

A third gentleman in the room, with a faint smile on his rather round face, put in: "The South has often been called God's country, Perry."

"Why, certainly, Mr. Sharp," agreed the banker in a faintly undecided voice, as if he were not quite sure whether Mr. Sharp was agreeing with him or jibing at him very delicately. He paused a moment, then turned to Abner again.

"Now, to get down to business, Abner—er—I was just wondering whether you don't need a little money, maybe?"