“Oh,” said Chet scornfully, “anybody c’d do that.  That’s easy ’nough; but as fur ‘s the real bus’nis is concerned, he don’t have nothin’ to do with it.  It’s all ben left to me:  chargin’ an’ creditin’, postin’, individule ledger, gen’ral ledger, bill-book, discount register, tickler, for’n register, checkin’ off the N’York accounts, drawin’ off statemunts f’m the ledgers an’ bill-book, writin’ letters—­why, the’ ain’t an hour ’n the day in bus’nis hours some days that the’s an hour ’t I ain’t busy ‘bout somethin’.  No, sir,” continued Chet, “Dave don’t give himself no trouble about the bus’nis.  All he does is to look after lendin’ the money, an’ seein’ that it gits paid when the time comes, an’ keep track of how much money the’ is here an’ in N’York, an’ what notes is comin’ due—­an’ a few things like that, that don’t put pen to paper, ner take an hour of his time.  Why, a man’ll come in an’ want to git a note done, an’ it’ll be ‘All right,’ or, ‘Can’t spare the money to-day,’ all in a minute.  He don’t give it no thought at all, an’ he ain’t ’round here half the time.  Now,” said Chet, “when I work fer a man I like to have him ’round so ’t I c’n say to him:  ’Shall I do it so? or shall I do it so? shall I? or sha’n’t I?’ an’ then when I make a mistake—­’s anybody’s liable to—­he’s as much to blame ’s I be.”

“I suppose, then,” said John, “that you must have to keep Mr. Harum’s private accounts also, seeing that he knows so little of details.  I have been told that he is interested in a good many matters besides this business.”

“Wa’al,” replied Timson, somewhat disconcerted, “I suppose he must keep ‘em himself in some kind of a fashion, an’ I don’t know a thing about any outside matters of his’n, though I suspicion he has got quite a few.  He’s got some books in that safe” (pointing with his finger) “an’ he’s got a safe in the vault, but if you’ll believe me”—­and the speaker looked as if he hardly expected it—­“I hain’t never so much as seen the inside of either one on ’em.  No, sir,” he declared, “I hain’t no more idee of what’s in them safes ’n you have.  He’s close, Dave Harum is,” said Chet with a convincing motion of the head; “on the hull, the clostest man I ever see.  I believe,” he averred, “that if he was to lay out to keep it shut that lightnin’ might strike him square in the mouth an’ it wouldn’t go in an eighth of an inch.  An’ yet,” he added, “he c’n talk by the rod when he takes a notion.”

“Must be a difficult person to get on with,” commented John dryly.

“I couldn’t stan’ it no longer,” declared Mr. Timson with the air of one who had endured to the end of virtue, “an’ I says to him the other day, ‘Wa’al,’ I says, ’if I can’t suit ye, mebbe you’d better suit yourself.’”

“Ah!” said John politely, seeing that some response was expected of him; “and what did he say to that?”

“He ast me,” replied Chet, “if I meant by that to throw up the situation.  ‘Wa’al,’ I says ‘I’m sick enough to throw up most anythin’,’ I says, ‘along with bein’ found fault with fer nothin’.’”