Of all the people in Orham he, he prided himself, was the only one who thoroughly understood Jed Winslow.
And sometimes he did partially understand him; this was one of the times.
"Now--now--now," he said, hastily, "don't you get to frettin' yourself about your not amountin' to anything and all that.

You've got a nice little trade of your own buildin' up here.

What more do you want?
We can't all be--er--Know-it-alls like Shakespeare, or-- or rich as Standard Oil Companies, can we?
Look here, what do you waste your time goin' back twenty-five years and meetin' yourself for?
Why don't you look ahead ten or fifteen and try to meet yourself then?
You may be a millionaire, a--er--windmill trust or somethin' of that kind, by that time.

Eh?
Ha, ha!" Jed rubbed his chin.
"When I meet myself lookin' like a millionaire," he observed, gravely, "I'll have to do the way you do at your bank, Sam--call in somebody to identify me." Captain Sam laughed.

"Well, anyhow," he said, "don't talk any more foolishness about not livin' in your own house.