“How long? What d’you mean?” exclaimed Major Carey.
“You don’t reckon I’m going to let the Barber Bank scoop up six hundred acres of good Virginia dirt for $14,000 do you?” said Morey significantly. “I don’t think my father’s old friend would be willing to see us permit that.”
Major Carey sprang to his feet.
“All we want is our money,” exclaimed the planter in a thick voice. “We’re entitled to that, you know.”
“Certainly. But wouldn’t you rather have the land?”
“That’s what I was going to suggest,” blurted out the Major, the banker and money-lender in him coming to the top.
Morey smiled.
“I thought so,” he remarked tartly.
“What do you mean?” shouted the Major, his face almost purple with sudden rage.
“I mean,” answered Morey coldly, “that for $14,000 you and Captain Barber and Mr. Bradner—and I reckon that’s the Barber Bank—are planning to get our plantation.”