“More ’n I wisht he did,” says old-man Fugle. “Be you goin’ to pay it?”
“How much did you say?”
“More’n his ganglin’ carcass is worth for corned beef,” says old-man Fugle. “Dunno why I ever trusted the coot. Might ’a’ knowed he wa’n’t man enough to run a mill. I says to my old woman the day after I done it that I calc’lated I’d up and made Silas a Christmas present, but there wasn’t no good wishes goin’ along with it.”
“What does he owe you for?”
“’Cause I was fool enough to trust him,” says old-man Fugle. “Next time I’ll know better. I don’t see what for you put that piece in the paper and got me ’way in here and then don’t do anything about it.”
“If you’ll t-t-tell me what Silas owes you for, and how much he owes you, we kin g-g-git down to b-business,” says Mark.
“Hain’t I been tellin’ you right along? Hain’t I been dingin’ it into your ears? Say! How many times I got to holler it at you? Be you deef?”
“You m-might tell me once more, in dollars and cents,” says Mark.
“I’ll tell you. You bet I’ll tell you. If it wasn’t so much I wouldn’t give a hoot, ’cause I could lick him and git satisfaction enough to make up, but I’d have to lick him more’n seventy times.”
“At how much a l-lick?” says Mark.