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Updated: July 7, 2025
Pantin returned her searching look with one in which she could discern no guile, but his words irritated her still further. "I happened to be in the bank the other day when the girl was begging Wentz for time on the loan which Mormon Joe had contracted for running expenses," Mr. Pantin explained with somewhat elaborate carelessness.
"Big paleface heap fun all squaw play," he said, scornfully. There was a menace in his somber eyes as he turned abruptly and left the group. "I'm afraid you've made an enemy," said Jake Wentz to Joe. "An Indian never forgets an insult, and that's how he regarded your joke. Silvertip has been friendly here because he sells us his pelts. He's a Shawnee chief. There he goes through the willows!"
Then changing the subject: "I've decided to increase the size of my account with you, Mr. Wentz. I'll leave this draft on open deposit, though it may be considerable time before I need it." She passed it to him carelessly. Since leaving the laundry, where he had been as temperamental as he liked, and taken it out on the wringer, Mr.
Evidently the fur-trader's wife and her female neighbors had settled in their minds the relation in which the girl stood to Joe. This latter reflection heightened Nell's resentment toward her lover. She stood with her face turned away from Mrs. Wentz; the little frown deepened, and she nervously tapped her foot on the floor. "Where is my sister?" she presently asked.
By this time Jim and Mr. Wells, Mrs. Wentz and the girls had joined the group. They all watched Silvertip get into his canoe and paddle away. "A bad sign," said Wentz, and then, turning to Jeff Lynn, who joined the party at that moment, he briefly explained the circumstances. "Never did like Silver. He's a crafty redskin, an' not to be trusted," replied Jeff.
The Sheep Queen toyed idly with a gold mesh-bag suspended by a chain about her neck, and her face was sphinx-like as she waited for Wentz to speak. The check fluttered as the banker picked it up at last and held it between his two trembling hands. "Is it necessary, Miss Prentice, that you have this money at once?" Kate replied evenly: "No I can't say that. Why?"
But I stuck to my bubble and wasn't to be guyed out of the idea, and finally he lit a cigar and started, in to bargain. Pa is the worst old skinflint in Connecticut, and never even gave me a bag of peanut candy without getting a double equivalent. First of all, I had to give up Lewis Wentz entirely; I wasn't to speak to him, or bow or bubble or dance or anything.
W.Y. Evans Wentz, A.M., of Leland Stanford University, California, and Jesus College, Oxford, has received an honorary degree from the latter university for his thesis, "The Fairy Faith in Celtic Countries: Its Psychical Origin and Nature", a most laborious as well as ingenious work, whose object is to prove "that the origin of the fairy faith is psychical, and that fairyland, being thought of as an invisible world within which the visible world is immersed as an island in an unexplored ocean, actually exists, and that it is peopled by more species of living beings than this world, because incomparably more vast and varied in its possibilities."
They are not, then, as earthly kings, leaders of their hosts to battle against their neighbours. Fairies fight and marshal themselves for war; Mr. Wentz has several cases of the kind. But Pan and Artemis have no share in these warfares. Queen Mab is one of the many names, and points to one of the many manifestations of Artemis; the Lady of the Lake is another.
With a sideline of fruit trees, I can get an order of some kind out of every family in the northern part of the state. It's a cinch, Wentz. I'm giving you a chance to make a good loan that you can't afford to let pass." Mr. Wentz yawned with marked weariness. "What's a bank for if not to encourage legitimate enterprises in the community upon which it depends for its business?
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