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“Anna didn’t come,” he said in a noncommittal voice.

“I know. I’m going to cook dinner. Who do you suppose this is here?”

The two men shook hands in a friendly way, and with a certain deference to John Jackson’s clothes and his prosperous manner, Harland went inside for another chair.

“We’ve heard about you a great deal, Mr. Jackson,” he said as Alice disappeared into the kitchen. “We heard about a lot of ways you made them sit up and take notice over yonder.”

John nodded politely, but at the mention of the city he had just left a wave of distaste went over him.

“I’m sorry I ever left here,” he answered frankly. “And I’m not just saying that either. Tell me what the years have done for you, Harland. I hear you’ve got a garage.”

“Yeah—down the road a ways. I’m doing right well, matter of fact. Nothing you’d call well in the city,” he added in hasty depreciation.

“You know, Harland,” said John Jackson, after a moment, “I’m very much in love with your wife.”

“Yeah?” Harland laughed. “Well, she’s a pretty nice lady, I find.”