“I got this here notice this mornin’,” said the man, “sayin’ ’t my note ’d be due to-morrer, an’ ’d have to be paid.”
“Wa’al,” said David, with his arm over the back of his chair and his left hand resting on his desk, “that’s so, ain’t it?”
“Mebbe so,” was the fellow’s reply, “fur ’s the comin’ due ’s concerned, but the payin’ part ’s another matter.”
“Was you cal’latin’ to have it renewed?” asked David, leaning a little forward.
“No,” said the man coolly, “I don’t know ’s I want to renew it fer any pertic’ler time, an’ I guess it c’n run along fer a while jest as ’tis.” John looked at Dick Larrabee. He was watching David’s face with an expression of the utmost enjoyment. David twisted his chair a little more to the right and out from the desk.
“You think it c’n run along, do ye?” he asked suavely. “I’m glad to have your views on the subject. Wa’al, I guess it kin, too, until to-morro’ at four o’clock, an’ after that you c’n settle with lawyer Johnson or the sheriff.” The man uttered a disdainful laugh.
“I guess it’ll puzzle ye some to c’lect it,” he said. Mr. Harum’s bushy red eyebrows met above his nose.
“Look here, Bill Montaig,” he said, “I know more ’bout this matter ’n you think for. I know ’t you ben makin’ your brags that you’d fix me in this deal. You allowed that you’d set up usury in the fust place, an’ if that didn’t work I’d find you was execution proof anyways. That’s so, ain’t it?”
“That’s about the size on’t,” said Montaig, putting his feet a little farther apart. David had risen from his chair.
“You didn’t talk that way,” proceeded the latter, “when you come whinin’ ’round here to git that money in the fust place, an’ as I reckon some o’ the facts in the case has slipped out o’ your mind since that time, I guess I’d better jog your mem’ry a little.”
It was plain from the expression of Mr. Montaig’s countenance that his confidence in the strength of his position was not quite so assured as at first, but he maintained his attitude as well as in him lay.
“In the fust place,” David began his assault, “I didn’t lend ye the money. I borr’ed it for ye on my endorsement, an’ charged ye fer doin’ it, as I told ye at the time; an’ another thing that you appear to forgit is that you signed a paper statin’ that you was wuth, in good and available pusson’ls, free an’ clear, over five hunderd dollars, an’ that the statement was made to me with the view of havin’ me endorse your note fer one-fifty. Rec’lect that?” David smiled grimly at the look of disconcert which, in spite of himself, appeared in Bill’s face.
“I don’t remember signin’ no paper,” he said doggedly.
“Jest as like as not,” remarked Mr. Harum. “What you was thinkin’ of about that time was gittin’ that money.”
“I’d like to see that paper,” said Bill, with a pretence of incredulity.
“You’ll see it when the time comes,” asserted David, with an emphatic nod. He squared himself, planting his feet apart, and, thrusting his hands deep in his coat pockets, faced the discomfited yokel.
“Do you think, Bill Montaig,” he said, with measureless contempt, “that I didn’t know who I was dealin’ with? that I didn’t know what a low-lived, roost-robbin’ skunk you was? an’ didn’t know how to protect myself agin such an’muls as you be? Wa’al, I did, an’ don’t you stop thinkin’ ’bout it—an’,” he added, shaking his finger at the object of his scorn, “you’ll pay that note or I’ll put ye where the dogs won’t bite ye,” and with that he turned on his heel and resumed his seat. Bill stood for a minute with a scowl of rage and defeat in his lowering face.
“Got any further bus’nis with me?” inquired Mr. Harum. “Anythin’ more ’t I c’n oblige ye about?” There was no answer.
“I asked you,” said David, raising his voice and rising to his feet, “if you had any further bus’nis with me.”
“I dunno’s I have,” was the sullen response.
“All right,” said David. “That bein’ the case, an’ as I’ve got somethin’ to do beside wastin’ my time on such wuthless pups as you be, I’ll thank you to git out. There’s the door,” he added, pointing to it.
“He, he, he, he, ho, ho, ha, h-o-o-o-o-o!” came from the throat of Dick Larrabee. This was too much for the exasperated Bill, and he erred (to put it mildly) in raising his arm and advancing a step toward his creditor. He was not swift enough to take the second, however, for David, with amazing quickness, sprang upon him, and twisting him around, rushed him out of the door, down the passage, and out of the front door, which was obligingly held open by an outgoing client, who took in the situation and gave precedence to Mr. Montaig. His companion, who so far had taken no part, made a motion to interfere, but John, who stood nearest to him, caught him by the collar and jerked him back, with the suggestion that it would be better to let the two have it out by themselves. David came back rather breathless and very red in the face, but evidently in exceeding good humor.
“Scat my ⸻!” he exclaimed. “Hain’t had such a good tussle I dunno when.”
“Bill’s considered ruther an awk’ard customer,” remarked Dick. “I guess he hain’t had no such handlin’ fer quite a while.”
“Sho!” exclaimed Mr. Harum. “The’ ain’t nothin’ to
