Other Peoples Business | Page 8

little, and by the tenth year they
guarantee you twenty-five per cent. Even that doesn't cover it. They say
that orchard owners in the same locality are making as much as a

hundred per cent. most years. Anybody who could spare a few
thousand would be sure of a good income for the rest of his days."
"But there's the off years," objected Joel, a crackle of greed in his
high-pitched voice.
"There's not going to be any off years the way those fellows figure.
They say that by thinning out the apples when the yield is heavy, they
can be sure of a crop every season." Thomas' gaze wandered to Persis
who had resumed her seat and taken up her sewing. "We're talking of a
chance to put your money where it'll get more than savings bank
int'rest," he said, resolved that Joel should not monopolize every topic
of conversation. "The Apple of Eden Investment Company, they call
it."
"I heard you say something about twenty-five per cent," returned Persis,
sewing placidly. "'Most too good to please me."
"Now if that ain't a woman all over," Joel interjected excitedly. "The
toe of a stocking is a good enough bank for any of 'em, and as for using
foresight and putting a little capital where it'll bring in an income for
your old age, you'd think to hear 'em talk, that such a thing was never
heard tell of. If I'd had the handling of the money that's come into this
house for the last twenty years, we'd have been on Easy Street by now.
But Persis has the kind of setness that doesn't take no account of reason.
And as the poet says:
"'He is a fool who thinks by force or skill To turn the current of a
woman's will.'"
Thomas, purpling with resentment, addressed his next remark to Persis.
"I don't s'pose our folks would take so much stock in all these fine
promises if there wasn't a Clematis boy secretary of the company. I
guess you remember him, Persis. Ware, his name was. Justin Ware."
"Yes, I remember him." An abrupt movement on Persis' part had
unthreaded her needle. She bent close to the lamp, vainly trying to
insert the unsteady end of the thread into the opening it had so lately

quitted.
"I've been telling you right along you needed glasses," triumphed Joel.
"And to keep on saying that you don't, ain't going to help the matter.
'When age, old age comes creeping on,' as the poet says--"
"I don't need glasses any more than you need a crutch." The denial
came out with a snap. Persis Dale, patient to the point of weakness,
enduring submissively for twenty years the thankless exactions of her
brother, proved herself wholesomely human by her prompt resentment.
"My eyes are as good as they ever were," she insisted, and closed the
discussion if she did not prove her point, by putting her work away.
Secretary of an investment company making such golden promises!
That looked as if at last fortune had smiled on Justin Ware.
The two men had the talk to themselves. Persis' absorption was
penetrated now and then by references to the miracles wrought by
scientific spraying and pruning, or the possibility of heating orchards so
that late frosts would no longer have terrors for the fruit grower, sober
facts which the literature of the Apple of Eden Investment Company
had enveloped in the rosy atmosphere of romance. Like many people
who have never made money by hard work, Joel believed profoundly in
making it by magic. His pallid face flushed feverishly, and his eyes
glittered as he discussed the possibility of making a thousand dollars
double itself in a year.
It was ten o'clock when Thomas again had the field to himself and in
Clematis only sentimental visits were prolonged beyond that hour.
Thomas' opportunity had arrived, but with it unluckily had come the
recollection of a misdeed for which he must receive absolution before
the flood-gates of his heart were opened.
"Persis, do you remember that old Baptist minister who lived opposite
the schoolhouse when we were kids? Elder Buck, everybody called
him."
With an effort she set aside her own recollections in favor of his. "Oh,
yes, I remember. The one whose false teeth were always slipping

down."
"His picket fence was all torn to pieces one night. He had a way of
calling names in the pulpit, the elder had,--children of the devil and that
sort of thing--and it got some of the boys riled. And to pay him back,
they tore down his fence. Persis, I--I was one of those boys."
He looked at her appealingly and felt his heart sink. Persis' eyes were
lowered. Her face was grave and a little sad as befits