“If it be only a question between fifty and eighty—”
“That's it,—well spoken. Well, call it a hundred, and I'm off to see if it can't be done.” And without waiting for a reply, Heron hastened out of the room as he spoke.
Notwithstanding the irritation the incident caused him, Layton could not, as soon as he found himself alone, avoid laughing at the absurdity of his situation.
If he never went the full length of believing in the hazardous consequences Mr. Heron predicted, he at least saw that he must be prepared for any mark of public disfavor his disappointment might excite; and it was just possible such censure might assume a very unpleasant shape. The edicts of Judge Lynch are not always in accordance with the dignity of the accused, and though this consideration first forced him to laugh, his second thoughts were far graver. Nor were these thoughts unmixed with doubts as to what Quackinboss would say of the matter. Would he condemn the rashness of his first pledge, or the timidity of his retreat; or would he indignantly blame him for submission to a menace? In the midst of these considerations, Heron reentered the room.
“There, sir; it's all signed and sealed. Old Poll's to do the work, and you 're to be too ill to appear. That will require your stayin' here till nightfall; but when the folks is at the hall, you can slip through the town and make for New Lebanon.”
“And I am to pay—how much did you say?”
“What you proposed yourself, sir. A hundred dollars.”
“At eight o'clock, then, let me have a wagon ready,” said Layton, too much irritated with his own conduct to be moved by anything in that of his host. He therefore paid little attention to Mr. Heron's account of all the ingenuity and address it had cost him to induce old Poll to become his substitute, nor would he listen to one word of the conversation reported to have passed on that memorable occasion. What cared he to hear how old Poll looked ten years younger since the bargain? He was to be dressed like a gentleman; he was to be in full black; he was to resume all the dignity of the station he had once held; while he gave the public what he had hitherto resolutely refused,—some account of himself and his own life. Layton turned away impatiently at these details; they were all associated with too much that pained to interest or to please him.
“The matter is concluded now, and let me hear no more of it,” said he, peevishly. “I start at eight.” And with this he turned away, leaving no excuse to his host to remain, or resume an unpalatable subject.
“Your wagon shall be here at the hour, and a smart pair of horses to bowl you along, sir,” said Heron, too well satisfied on the whole to be annoyed by a passing coldness.