Supper was late that night, for I waited until Uncle Seth came in; but he made no excuse for his long absence and late return. He ate rapidly and in silence, as if he were not thinking of his food, and he took no wine until he had pushed his plate away. Then he poured himself a glass from the decanter, tasted it, and said, "I am to be away to-morrow, Joe."
"Yes, sir," said I.
"I may be back to-morrow night and I may not. As to that, I can't say. But I wish, come afternoon, you'd go to Abe Guptil's for me. I've an errand there I want you to do."
I waited in silence.
"I hold a mortgage of two thousand dollars on his place," he presently went on. "I've let it run, out of good-nature. Good-nature don't pay. Well, I'm going to need the money. Give him a month to pay up. If he can't, tell him I'll sell him out."
"You'll what?" I cried, not believing that I heard him aright.
"I'll sell him out. Pringle has been wanting the place and he'll give at least two thousand."
"Now, Uncle Seth, Abraham Guptil's been a long time sick. His best horse broke a leg a while back and he had to shoot it, and while he was sick his crops failed. He can't pay you now. Give him another year. He's good for the money and he pays his interest on the day it's due."
Uncle Seth frowned. "I've been too good-natured," he said sharply. "I need the money myself. I shall sell him out."
"But—"