"Good day."
The two men went out together. No sooner were they outside the shop
than the deacon said, rapidly,--
"Reynolds Bartram, my business affairs are in the worst possible
condition. You know more about them than anybody else. You have done as
much as anybody else to put them in the muddle that they're in now. You
helped me into them, and now, church or no church, religion or no
religion, you've got to help me out of them, or I've got to go to the
devil. Now, what are you going to do about it?"
"Is it as bad as that?" murmured the lawyer.
"Yes, it's as bad as that, and I could put it a good deal stronger if
it was necessary. Everything has been going wrong. That walnut timber
tract over on the creek, that I expected to get about five thousand
dollars out of, isn't worth five thousand cents. Since the last time I
was over there some rascal stole every log that was worth taking, and
the place wouldn't bring under the hammer half what I gave for it. I
have been trying to sell it, but somehow everybody that wanted it
before has found out what has been going on. This is an awfully mean
world on business-men that don't look out for themselves all the time."
"I should not think you had ever any right to complain of it, deacon,"
said the lawyer.
"Come, come, now," said the deacon, "I'm not in any condition to be
tormented to-day, Reynolds,--I really ain't.
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