"There wasn't no other way, Cunnel. I'm sorry, I am, 'bout what I aimed to do—an' I won't no moh, if Mister McElroy'll let up! I'm a hard workin' man, an' got a big fam'ly to keer for!"
"Do you know what he's talking about?" the old gentleman asked Brent.
"I told you some of it the other day—but I think an approaching delirium tremens is partially responsible for this!"
"Ah, so you did! Tom, you tried to practice blackmail!" The Colonel's eyes were glowering.
"But I ain't no moh," Hewlet turned his back and began anew to weep. "Don't do nuthin' to me!"
Brent motioned the Colonel to let him speak.
"Tom," he said, "Mister Dulany and I have been looking for you, to buy your farm, so you can move to Missouri where your brother is." He paused so Tom could grasp this. "You don't have to sell, and we won't force you against your will." He paused again. "But if you stay here, and want me to let up on you, you'll have to stop drinking; and report to the Colonel every day for a month—"
"For six months," the Colonel corrected.
"—for six months," Brent continued, "so he can see if you're sober. Also, you must plow up your weeds and get the farm in shape. Either of these plans is open for twenty-four hours. Take tonight to think it over, and tell us tomorrow."
"Gawd, I'll go to Missoury if I can sell the farm!" he cried.