“A feud goes with the property?” remarked Mauville carelessly.
“The tenants object to paying rent,” replied Scroggs, sadly. “They’re a sorry lot!”
“Evade their debts, do they?” said the land baron languidly. “What presumption to imitate their betters! That won’t do; I need the money.”
“They claim the rights of the landlord originated in fraud––”
“No doubt!” Yawning. “My ancestors were rogues!”
“Oh, sir”––deprecatorily.
“If the tenants don’t pay, turn them out,” interrupted Mauville, listlessly, “if you have to depopulate the country.”
Having come to an understanding with his client, the lawyer arose to take his departure.
“By the way,” he said, obsequiously, selecting a yellow, well-worn bit of paper from his bundle of documents, “it may interest you to keep this yourself. It is the original deed for all these lands from the squaw Pewasch. You can see they were acquired for a few shillings’ worth of ‘wet and dry goods’ and seventeen and a half ells of duffels.”
“The old patroons could strike a rare bargain,” muttered the heir, as he casually surveyed the ancient deed, and then, folding it, placed it in his breast pocket. “For a mere song was acquired––”