"I am paying you your money," answered Brant.
The clerk looked up, meaning to order old Daggett out. Then his pen dropped from his hand as he saw Brant's face.
"You give me my thousand dollars," said Daggett. "I want my thousand dollars."
Some one in the crowd laughed. Every one in Gettysburg had heard of Daggett's thousand dollars.
"Put him out! He's crazy."
"Be still," said some one, who was watching Brant.
"I want my thousand dollars," said old Daggett, again. He looked as though, even in his age and weakness, he would spring upon Brant. "I want my thousand dollars."
Brant thrust a trembling hand into his pocket and drew out his check-book. If he had had a moment to think, if the face before him had not been so ferocious, if General Davenant, whom he knew, and who knew him, had not been looking with stern inquiry over old Daggett's shoulder, he might have laughed, or he might have pretended that he had tried to find Daggett after the war, or he might have denied that he had ever seen him. But before he thought of an expedient, it was too late. He had committed the fatal blunder of drawing out his check-book.
"Be quiet and I'll give it to you," he said, beginning to write.
Daggett almost tore the slip of blue paper from his hand.