"True--true," admitted Carraway; "but the surprising thing is--Idon't hesitate to say--that you who had been overseer to the Blakes for twenty years should have been able in those destitute times and on the spot, as it were, to put down seven thousand dollars."He faced the fact unflinchingly, dragging it from the long obscurity full into the red glare of the lamplight.Here was the main thing, he knew, in Fletcher's history--here was the supreme offense.For twenty years the man had been the trusted servant of his feeble employer, and when the final crash came he had risen with full hands from the wreck.The prodigal Blakes--burning the candle at both ends, people said--had squandered a double fortune before the war, and in an equally stupendous fashion Fletcher had amassed one.
"Oh, thar're ways and ways of putting by a penny," he now protested, "and I turned over a bit during the war, I may as well own up, though folks had only black looks for speculators then.""We used to call them 'bloodsuckers,' I remember.""Well, that's neither here nor thar, suh.When the place went for seven thousand I paid it down, and I've managed one way and another--and in spite of the pesky niggers--to make a pretty bit out of the tobacco crop, hard as times have been.The Hall is mine now, thar's no going agin that, and, so help me God, it'll belong to a William Fletcher long after I am dead.""Ah, that brings us directly to the point."Fletcher squared himself about in his chair while his pipe went out slowly.
"The point, if you'll have it straight," he said, "is jest this--I want the whole place--every inch of it--and I'll die or git it, as sure's my name's my own.Thar's still that old frame house and the piece of land tacked to it, whar the overseers used to live, cutting straight into the heart of my tobacco fields--in clear view of the Hall, too--right in the middle of my land, Itell you!"
"Oh, I see--I see," muttered Carraway; "that's the little farm in the midst of the estate which the old gentleman--bless his weak head and strong heart gave his wife's brother, Colonel Corbin, who came back crippled from the war.Yes, I remember now, there was a joke at the time about his saying that land was the cheapest present he could give.""It was all his besotted foolishness, you know to think of a sane man deeding away seventy acres right in the heart of his tract of two thousand.He meant it for a joke, of course.Mr.Tucker or Colonel Corbin, if you choose, was like one of the family, but he was as sensitive as a kid about his wounds, and he wanted to live off somewhar, shut up by himself.Well, he's got enough folks about him now, the Lord knows.Thar's the old lady, and the two gals, and Mr.Christopher, to say nothing of Uncle Boaz and a whole troop of worthless niggers that are eating him out of house and home.Tom Spade has a deed of trust on the place for three hundred dollars; he told me so himself.""So I understand; and all this is a serious inconvenience to you, I may suppose.""Inconvenience! Blood and thunder! It takes the heart right out of my land, I tell you.Why, the very road I cut to save myself half a mile of mudholes came to a dead stop because Mr.
Christopher wouldn't let it cross his blamed pasture."Carraway thoughtfully regarded his finger nails."Then, bless my soul!--seeing it's your private affair--what are you going to do about it?" he inquired.
"Git it.The devil knows how--I don't; but git it I will.Ibrought you down here to talk those fools over, and I mean you to do it.It's all spite, pure, rotten spite; that's what it is.
Look here, I'll gladly give 'em three thousand dollars for that strip of land, and it wouldn't bring nine hundred, on my oath!""Have you made the offer?"
"Made it? Why, if I set foot on the tip edge of that land I'd have every lean hound in the pack snapping at my heels.As for that young rascal, he'd knock me down if I so much as scented the matter."He rapped his pipe sharply on the wood of his chair and a little pile of ashes settled upon the floor.With a laugh, the other waved his hand in protest.
"So you prefer to make the proposition by proxy.My dear sir--I'm not a rubber ball.""Oh, he won't hurt you.It would spoil the sport to punch anybody's head but mine, you know.Come, now, isn't it a fair offer I'm ******?""It appears so, certainly--and I really do not see why he should wish to hold the place.It isn't worth much, I fancy, to anybody but the owner of the Hall, and with the three thousand clear he could probably get a much better one at a little distance--with the additional value of putting a few square miles between himself and you--whom, I may presume, he doesn't love.""Oh, you may presume he hates me if you'll only work it," snorted Fletcher."Go over thar boldly--no slinking, mind you--to-morrow morning, and talk them into reason.Lord, man, you ought to be able to do it--don't you know Greek?"Carraway nodded."Not that it ever availed me much in an argument," he confessed frankly.
"It's a good thing to stop a mouth with, anyway.Thar's many and many a time, I tell you, I've lost a bargain for the lack of a few rags of Latin or Greek.Drag it in; stuff it down 'em; gag thar mouths--it's better than all the swearing under heaven.Why, taking the Lord's name in vain ain't nothing to a line of poetry spurted of a sudden in one of them dead-and-gone languages.It's been done at me, suh, and I know how it works--that's why I've put the boy upstairs on 'em from the start.'Tain't much matter whether he goes far in his own tongue or not, that's what I said, but dose him well with something his neighbours haven't learnt."He rose with a lurch, laid his pipe on the mantel, and drew out his big silver watch.
"Great Jehosaphat! it's eleven and after," he exclaimed."Well, it's time for us to turn in, I reckon, and dream of breakfast.If you'll hold the lamp while I bolt up, I'll show you to your room."Carraway picked up the lamp, and, cautiously following his host into the darkened hall, waited until he had fastened the night-chains and shot the heavy bolts.
