He looked at Uncle Ben's simple face slightly deepening in color under his scrutiny--perhaps with conscious guilt.
"Have you made anybody your confidant?
Rupe, for instance ?" he asked significantly.
"In course not," replied Uncle Ben with a slight stiffening of wounded pride.

"On'y yourself, Mr.Ford, and the young feller Stacey from the bank--ez was obligated to know it.

In fact, I wos kalkilatin' to ask you to help me talk to him about that yer boundary land." Mr.Ford's scepticism was at last staggered.

Any practical joke or foolish complicity between the agent of the bank and a man like Uncle Ben was out of the question, and if the story were his own sole invention, he would have scarcely dared to risk so accessible and uncompromising a denial as the agent had it in his power to give.
He held out his hand to Uncle Ben.

"Let me congratulate you," he said heartily, "and forgive me if your story really sounded so wonderful I couldn't quite grasp it.