“Will he insist on that condition?”
“I am afraid he will. He is a hard man.”
“Then,” said Mrs. Walton, indignantly, “he deserve to prosper.”
“Wordly{sic} prosperity doesn’t always go by merit. Plenty of mean men prosper.”
Before Mrs. Walton had time to reply, a knock was heard at the door.
“Go to the door, Tom,” said his father.
Tom obeyed, and shortly reappeared, followed by a small man with a thin figure and wrinkled face, those deep-set, craw eyes peered about him curiously as he entered the room.
“Good-evening, Squire Green,” said Mr. Walton, politely, guessing his errand.
“Good-evenin’, Mrs. Walton. The air’s kinder frosty. I ain’t so young as I was once, and it chills my blood.”
The old man sat down and spread his hands before the fire.
“I was lookin’ over my papers to-night, neighbor, and I come across that note you give for the cow. Forty dollars with interest, which makes the whole come to forty-one dollars and twenty cents. To- morrow’s the day for payin’. I suppose you’ll be ready?” and the old man peered at Hiram Walton with his little keen eyes.
“Now for it,” thought Hiram. ‘I’m sorry to say, Squire Green,” he answered, “that I can’t pay the note. Times have been hard, and my family expenses have taken all I could earn.”
The squire was not much disappointed, for now he was entitled to exact the forfeit of ten dollars.
“The contrack provides that if you can’t meet the note you shall pay ten dollars,” he said. “I s’pose you can do that.”
“Squire Green, I haven’t got but two dollars laid by.”
“Two dollars!” repeated the squire, frowning.
“That ain’t honest. You knew the note was comin’ due, and you’d oughter have provided ten dollars, at least.”
“I’ve done as much as I could. I’ve wanted to meet the note, but I couldn’t make money, and I earned all I could.”
“You ain’t been equinomical,” said the squire, testily.
“I should like to have you tell us how we can economize any more than we have,” said Mrs. Walton, with spirit. “Just look around you, and see if you think we have been extravagant in buying clothes. I am sure I have to darn and mend till I am actually ashamed.”
“ ‘Tain’t none of my business, as long as you pay me what you owe me,” said the squire. “All I want is my money, and I’d orter have it.”
“It doesn’t seem right that my husband should forfeit ten dollars and lose the cow.”
“That was the contrack, Mrs. Walton. Your husband agreed to it, and—-”
“That doesn’t make it just.”
“ ‘Tain’t no more’n a fair price for the use of the cow for six months. Ef you’ll pay the ten dollars to-morrow, I’ll let you have the cow six months longer on the same contrack.”
“I don’t see any possibility of my paying you the money, Squire Green. I haven’t got it.”
“Why don’t you borrer somewhere?”
“I might as well owe you as another man. Besides, I don’t know anybody that would lend me the money.”
“Well, I’ll come round to-morrow night, and I hope you’ll be ready. Good-night.”
No very cordial good-night followed Squire Green as he hobbled out of the cottage. He was a mean, miserly, grasping man, who had no regard for the feelings or comfort of anyone else; whose master passion was a selfish love of accumulating money. His money did him little good, however, for he was as mean with himself as with others, and grudged himself even the necessaries of life, because, if purchased, it must be at the expense of his hoards. The time must come when he and his money must part, but he did not think of that.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
SETTLED.
There was a general silence after Squire Green’s departure. Hiram Walton looked gloomy, and the rest of the family, also.
“What an awful mean man the squire is!” Tom broke out, indignantly.
“You’re right, for once,” said Mary.
In general, such remarks were rebuked by the father or mother; but the truth of Tom’s observation was so clear, that for once he was not reproved.