“That’s why I come here.”
“All right, then. Tuesday noon you get p-p-paid in full.”
“I’ll wait,” says old-man Fugle, and out he stamped.
When he was gone we looked at one another sort of quiet, and then we all looked at Silas Doolittle, who was stepping from one foot to the other like he was standing on something hot. But Mark never said a word to him. When he spoke it was mostly to himself.
“Tuesday noon,” says he. “Two hunderd and seventy-two d-d-dollars and sixty-one cents!... I guess we got to git a h-h-hustle on.”
Somehow I was looking at it about like Mark was. We sure did need to get a hustle on, but I was guessing that the place we would hustle would be out of that mill for good and all, and that Mr. Wiggamore would come hustling into it. It looked to me like our dam was his.
CHAPTER VIII
Next morning you would have thought Mark had forgotten all about old-man Fugle and his two hunderd and seventy-two dollars. He never mentioned it, but just took his reports of what we had in stock and went out.
“Where you goin’?” says I.
“Sell some s-s-stuff,” says he.