He took a long whiff and watched the smoke as it circled slowly upward.
“Nine hunderd,” he repeated. “Thet’s a lot o’ money—a good bit o’ money. I’m afeard I ain’t got thet much t’ give away, Miss Bessie. I don’ believe in givin’ people money, anyways.”
He glanced at her and saw how her face changed. Her voice was trembling a little when she spoke.
“Very well, Mr. Smith,” she said. “Of course it is a lot of money. I had no right to ask you.” And she rose to go. “I’ll tell Mr. Bayliss, and we will find some other plan.”
“Set down!” he interrupted, almost roughly. “Set down, an’ wait till I git through.”
She sat down again, looking at him with astonishment not unmixed with fear.
“Now,” he continued, “I said I didn’t hev thet much money t’ give away, but thet ain’t sayin’ I ain’t got it t’ loan. Now I’m a business man. I don’ believe in fosterin’ porpers. If this yere Tommy o’ yourn shows he’s got th’ stuff in him t’ make a scholar, an’ you git his father t’ consent t’ his goin’ away, I’ll tell you what I’ll do, jest as a business proposition. I’ll loan him three hunderd dollars at five per cent., t’ be paid back when he earns it. Thet’ll pay fer one year, an’ I reckon I kin make th’ same proposition when th’ second an’ third years come round, pervided, of course, th’ boy turns out th’ way you expect. Ef ’t takes four years, why, all right.”
He stopped to get his pipe going again, and his hearer started from her chair with glistening eyes.
“Oh, Mr. Smith,” she began, but he waved her back.
“Set down, can’t yer?” he cried, more fiercely than ever; and she sank back again, beginning at last to understand something of this man. “I ain’t through yet. When you git ready fer the money, you come t’ me an’ I’ll make out th’ note. You kin take it t’ him an’ let him sign it. But I don’ want no polly-foxin’ roun’ me. I won’t stan’ it. You tell th’ boy t’ keep away from me, an’ don’ you let anybody else know about it, er I won’t loan him a cent.”