Part 39 (1/2)

”Tom,” he said, ”Mister Dulany and I have been looking for you, to buy your farm, so you can move to Missouri where your brother is.” He paused so Tom could grasp this. ”You don't have to sell, and we won't force you against your will.” He paused again. ”But if you stay here, and want me to let up on you, you'll have to stop drinking; and report to the Colonel every day for a month--”

”For six months,” the Colonel corrected.

”--for six months,” Brent continued, ”so he can see if you're sober.

Also, you must plow up your weeds and get the farm in shape. Either of these plans is open for twenty-four hours. Take tonight to think it over, and tell us tomorrow.”

”Gawd, I'll go to Missoury if I can sell the farm!” he cried.

”That's better. How much is it worth, Colonel?”

”It's good land,” the old gentleman answered. ”I'll give a hundred and fifty an acre, because it adjoins me.”

”How much is it mortgaged for?” Brent turned to Hewlet, who seemed surprised at the question.

”Nuthin',” he doggedly answered.

”You might as well tell the truth; we're bound to know it!”

”Nuthin', I said,” he looked s.h.i.+ftily down. ”'N' I don't take no hund'ed 'n' fifty a acre, neither--from no railroad!”

”The same old hold-up,” Brent murmured across the chess board.

But the Colonel, still obsessed by the old aching worry, was just then engrossed with another thought. Clearing his throat, he said--trying to do it casually:

”By the way, Tom, where is Tusk Potter?”

”I don't know, Cunnel; I ain't seen 'im for a 'c.o.o.n's age.”

”Oh, nothing at all, nothing at all,” the old gentleman hastily added, as though Tom had asked why he wanted to know.

”Well, how about our proposition?” Brent inquired.

”It's wu'th three hund'ed a acre,” he grumbled.

”One-fifty is our price, Tom. Think it over before we change our minds!”

”Aw, h.e.l.l,” he sneered, ”you can't bluff me!”

”Get off of my place, you drunken scoundrel!” the Colonel, towering with rage, sprang up reaching for his cane.

But Tom, panic stricken, had turned and fled.

Sighing, the old gentleman dropped back into his chair.

”Let me see--where are we!” he said, looking closely at the board.

”You'd moved your Queen to her Bishop's second, hadn't you? Ah, yes!

Then my Bishop takes your Bishop's p.a.w.n, and checks. Now, sir, watch out! I'm coming after you in good earnest!”

As it happened no one intruded upon the drive to church. When four o'clock came around Bip had taken Mac down on the creek with Bob and Mesmie, to hunt under the stones for crawfish.