we git to fightin' good."

Aunt Basha, her hands folded on the rounded volume of apron considered
deeply. After a time she arrived at a decision.

"Jeems," she began, "yo' cert'nly is a strong reasoner. Yassir. But I
got it bo'ne in upon me powerful dat I gotter give dese yer savin's to
Unc' Sam. It's my country too, Jeems, same as dem sojers what's
fightin', dem boys in de mud what ain' got a soul to wash fo' 'em. An'
lak as not dey mas not dere. Dem boys is fightin', and gittin' wet and
hunted up lak young marse say, fo' Aunt Basha and--bress dere
hearts"--Aunt Basha broke down, and the upshot was that Jeems washed his
hands of an obstinate female and--the savings not being his in any
case--gave unwilling consent.

Youth of the sterner set is apt to be casual in making appointments. It
had not entered Lance's head to arrange in case he was not at the
office. As for Aunt Basha, her theory was that he reigned there over an
army of subordinates from morning till evening. So that she was taken
aback when told that Mr. Lance was out and no one could say when he
would be in. She had risen at dawn and done her housework and much of
the fine washing which she "took in," and had then arrayed herself in
her best calico dress and newest turban and apron for the great occasion
and had reported at the _Daybreak_ office at nine-thirty. And young
marse wasn't there.

"I'll set and rest ontwell he comes in," she announced, and retired to
a chair against the wall.

There she folded her hands statelily and sat erect, motionless, an image