"We're a pack of asinine blunderers, Landis!" Mr. Buehlor looked

foolish. Then he sighed relievedly. "That clears matters for you. I'm

glad. I couldn't conceive of you as anything but honest, Landis. But

tell me about that legacy--a pretty nice sum."

"It's a romantic little story. An old sweetheart of my father, one who

must have carried under her prickly exterior a bit of tender romance

and who liked to do things other people never dreamed of doing, left

him ten thousand dollars. She was a queer old body. Had no direct

heirs, so she left Father ten thousand dollars for a little

remembrance! It was that honest money that paid for the conveniences in

our house, the second-hand car Father bought and the Victrola he gave

Mother because we are all crazy for music and had nothing to create any

melody except an old parlor organ that sounded wheezy after nine babies

had played on it."

"Landis, forgive me; we're a set of fools!" The old man extended his

hand and looked humbly into the face of Martin. The two gripped hands,

each feeling emotion too great for words.

After a moment's silence Mr. Buehlor spoke.

"This goes no farther. Your reputation is as safe as mine. If I have

anything to say you'll be eligible for the first vacancy in the line of

advancement. As for that Mertzheimer, he can withdraw his account from

our bank to-day for all we care. We can do business without him. But it

puzzles me--what object did he have? If he knew of the legacy, and he

certainly did, he must have known you were O.K. Is he an enemy of

yours?"

"Not particularly. I never liked his son but we never had any real

tilts."

"You don't happen to want the same girl he wants, or anything like

that?"

"No--well now--why, I don't know!" A sudden revelation came to Martin.

Perhaps Lyman thought he had a rival in him. That would explain much.

"There's a son, as I said, and we know a girl I think he's been crazy

about for years. Perhaps he thinks I'm after her, too."

"I see," chuckled the old man. "Well, if the girl's the right sort she

won't have to toss a penny to decide which one to choose." He noted the

embarrassment of Martin and changed the subject.

But later in the afternoon as Martin walked down the road from the

trolley and drew near the Reist farmhouse the old man's words recurred

to him. Why, he'd known Amanda Reist all his life! He had never dreamed

she could comfort and help a man as she had done that morning in the

woods. Amanda was a fine girl, a great pal, a woman with a heart.




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