Mr. Diamond’s motto was “Cash and Carry” though with such as worried more over their debts than their bills receivable he urged the convenience of a charge-account. To travelling salesmen he said, “We discount our bills.” He would not have been out of place in a large city store; but this rural establishment he might own one day.

As he caught sight of Abe, he came running down the stairs. That Abe was singled out for personal attention may have been due to the fact that he was the owner’s brother-in-law; but it was sufficiently explained by the consideration that he had one of the largest and most reliable monthly accounts, which he settled with “cream cheques.”

Mr. Diamond flashed a gold-filled smile. “Anything for you, Abe?”

“Yes,” Abe replied and produced a slip of paper on which Ruth had written out a list of her needs. “Have these put into my buggy. The bronchos, right at the door.” The better customers’ horses were known to the clerks as well as the customers themselves.

“I’ll have it attended to at once.” And Mr. Diamond held up a finger to one of the white-frocked clerks.

“The doctor at the store?” Abe asked.

“I don’t think so. He’ll be at the house.”

But the manager led the way to look about, for the store was too large to be swept by a glance. Abe’s physical superiority reduced the other man to a mere satellite. He himself looked like a fact of nature.

They made the round without finding the doctor. Abe stood irresolute. In the course of the year he had learned not to resent his brother-in-law’s ways any longer. But now he half blamed his sister for the fact that she and Ruth did not pull together.

“I am going to the post office,” he said at last. “I won’t be back. I am in a hurry.” He always was.

“No need.” Mr. Diamond nodded. “You’ll find your things in the box.”

Abe passed through a door and went briskly along the sidewalk fronting a second, much smaller store conducted by a tiny, square-bodied Jew. Crossing the second street, the far corner of which was occupied by a hardware store, he reached, a few hundred yards beyond, a white frame building in which the post office was housed.

Like every place accessible to the Saturday crowd, the public room was filled with people who stood about conversing, the weekly trip to town being made quite as much for the sake of the social intercourse it afforded as for the purpose of trading. All these men came from south of “the Line.” It would have been easy for Abe to strike up acquaintances and to have himself admitted to the general conversation about the weather, the prospects of the crops, and provincial or municipal politics. But he merely nodded; and, under a general cessation of the buzzing talk, a few of those present silently and casually returned his nod. As if to expedite matters, they stepped aside and opened a lane for him to pass on to the wicket.

The reason for this reception was that Abe had not only made no advances but had even met such advances as were made to him with an attitude of reserve. He was considered proud; and he did look down on people satisfied with a success which secured a mere living. His goal was farther removed than theirs, and the very fact that he had so far realized few of his ambitions made him the more reticent; he was not going to allow himself to be judged by what he had done rather than by what he intended to do.

Having received from the aged postmaster that bundle of circulars which constituted his weekly mail, he left as briskly as he had entered.

He went to his sister’s house, where Mary met him at the door.

“You’ll stay for a while? I’ll make a cup of tea?”

“I just want to see Charles for a moment.”

“He’s in the study.” Mary looked queerly at her brother. When she had so much wished to have him in the district, he kept aloof!

The study was a small room opposite the dining-room. In contrast to the rest of the house its floor was bare; the general impression it made was that of an untidy litter. Its walls were lined with unstained bookshelves made by a local carpenter; the furniture consisted of a table strewn with papers, a roll-top desk, and two Morris chairs in one of which the doctor was sitting, a book in his hand; the seat of the other was encumbered with pamphlets and letters.

As Abe entered, Dr. Vanbruik looked at him over his glasses, dropped the hand holding the book, bent forward to sweep the encumbrances of the other chair to the floor, and said unsmilingly: “Sit down, Abe.”

If the doctor’s whole physique was small, his face was diminutive. It looked contracted, as if its owner lived in a perpetual concentration of thought.