I'm almost crazy. I
suppose old Mrs. Poynter has been at you to get her interest-money out
of me, hasn't she?"
"Hasn't spoken a word to me about it," said the lawyer.
"Well, I heard she was after you every night in the meeting--"
"She was after me, talking about one sinner or another of her
acquaintance, but she didn't mention you, deacon. It's a sad mistake,
perhaps, but in a big town like this a person can't think of everybody
at once, you know."
"For heaven's sake, Bartram, shut up, and tell me what I have to do.
Time is passing. I must have a lot of ready cash to-day, somehow, and
here are all these securities; the minute I try to sell them people go
to asking questions, and you're the only man they can come to. Now,
you know perfectly well what the arrangements and understandings were
when these papers were drawn, because you drew them all yourself. Now,
if people come to you I want you to promise me that you're not going to
go back on me."
The deacon still held the papers in his hand, gesticulating with them.
As he spoke, the lawyer took them, looked at them, and finally said,--
"Deacon, how much money do you need?"
"I can't get through," said the deacon, "with less than nine hundred
dollars ready cash, or first-class checks and notes, this very day.
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