"Look here, Mr. Barlow," snapped Blickens, "you've interfered once or twice in my business. I told Black that I'd give him till twelve o'clock to take up that mortgage. If he is going around whining after I have helped him, I'll give him no time at all. He must pay the money right here and now—or I'll foreclose at once."
"Pay him, Dawson," said Barlow, quietly.
"I won't accept a check—it isn't legal tender, and his check wouldn't be any good either."
By this time I had pulled out the roll of money, and say, it did me good to see Blickens' eyes. They stuck out of his head so far you could have knocked them off with a stick. He fairly gurgled with disappointment, but there was nothing else to do but take his medicine, which he did none too graciously.
I gave Barlow a demand note, with the farm as collateral, to cover the loan he had made me. I felt safer; but it wasn't my fault that I hadn't lost my farm. What a lot of trouble borrowing money gets one into!
When I got home from this episode, which had started me so unpleasantly, but which had finished so well for me, I found a letter from Larry Friday, in which he said that he found he had been stung badly on the store, and he didn't know whether he would be able to carry it on or not. He hoped, however, before the note matured, to find some of the money, but would see eventually that I got paid back what I would have to pay. I felt positively sick.
I was sitting by Betty's bedside when I read the letter, and she noticed my face change.
"What is it, boy dear?"
I silently passed the letter over to her and waited for her to say, "I told you so." Some women are wonderful—aren't they? She said nothing of the sort, but patted my hand and said:
"Too bad, but never mind, dear, I'd much sooner you'd lose a few dollars because you've such a big heart, than have you make a lot of money by being like Blickens."