Within three years of Ferris's
meeting with Chum the place's last mortgage was wiped out and a
score of needed repairs and improvements were installed. Also the
man had a small but steadily growing sum to his credit in a
Paterson savings bank.
Life on the farm was mighty pleasant, nowadays. Work was hard, of
course, but it was bringing results that made it more than worth
while. Ferris and his dog were living on the fat of the land. And
they were happy.
Then came the interruption that had been inevitable from the very
first.
A taciturn and eternally dead-broke man, in a rural region, need
not fear intrusion on his privacy. Convivial folk make detours
round him, as if he were a mud puddle. Thriftier and more
respectable neighbors eye him askance or eye him not at all.
But when a meed of permanent success comes to such a man he need
no longer be lonely unless he so wills. Which is not cynicism,
but common sense. The convivial element will still fight shy of
him. But he is welcomed into the circle of the respectable.
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