"
"Oh, I can walk."
"But I can drive you faster," I said, "and you've got to get the load
to town before nightfall."
I could not let him go without taking tribute. No matter what the story
books say, I am firmly of the opinion that no gentle knight (who was
human) ever parted with the fair lady whose misery he had relieved
without exchanging the time of day, or offering her a bun from his
dinner pail, or finding out (for instance) if she were maid or married.
My farmer laughed and got in.
"You see," I said, "when a member of my society is in distress I always
like to help him out."
He paused; I watched him gradually evolve his reply:
"How did you know I was a Mason?"
"Well, I wasn't _sure_."
"I only joined last winter," he said. "I like it first-rate. When you're
a Mason you find friends everywhere."
I had some excellent remarks that I could have made at this point, but
the distance was short and bolts were irresistibly uppermost. After
helping him to put in the bolt, I said:
"Here's the grip of fellowship."
He returned it with a will, but afterward he said doubtfully.
"I didn't feel the grip."
"Didn't you?" I asked. "Well, Brother, it was all there."
"If ever I can do anything for you," he said, "just you let me know.
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