“I am not running the business into the ground,” I cried, with some show of spirit, because I thought the assertion an unfair one. “I do all the grinding that comes in, and even go over to Bayport and down to Sander’s Point in the boat to get it.”
“Pooh! don’t tell me! Young men around here don’t amount to much! But that ain’t here or there. I came for that money.”
“I will see if I can pay it to-day. I have a load of middlings to take over to Mr. Carnet this morning, and if he pays me I will come right down to the Bend and settle up.”
“And if he don’t pay?”
“I trust he does.”
“Well, pay or not, I’ve got to have my money, and that’s all there is to it. You can’t have any more goods till you square accounts.”
And having thus delivered himself, Mr. Jackson stamped out of the mill, jumped into his buckboard, and drove off for the village.
He did not leave me in a very happy state of mind. I was in sole charge of the mill, and I was finding it hard work to make everything run smoothly.
Two months before, my father had departed for the West, with a view to locating a new mill in any spot that might promise well. Affairs in Torrent Bend were nearly at a standstill, with no prospect of improving.