“Land! Mr. Maclin, anything as high-sounding as a title tacked on to the Point is real ridiculous! But if the title ain’t clear, I guess brother Peter can make it so. Peter being magistrate comes in handy.”
“Miss Heathcote”––from his tones Northrup judged that Maclin was coming into the open––“Miss Heathcote, the title of the Point isn’t a clear one. I’ve made it my business to find out. Now I’m going to prove my friendliness––I’m not going to push what I know, I’ll take all the risks myself. I’ll give Mrs. Rivers a fair price for that land and everything will 62 be peaceful and happy if you will use your influence with her and the squatters. Will you?”
Aunt Polly slipped from the sofa. Northrup heard her, and imagined the look on her face.
“No, Mr. Maclin, I won’t! When the occasion rises up, I’ll advise Mary-Clare against pigs in pokes and I’ll advise the squatters to squat on!”
Northrup again had difficulty in smothering his laugh, but Maclin’s next move surprised and sobered him.
“Isn’t that place under the stairs, Miss Heathcote, where the bar of the old inn used to be?”
“Yes, sir, yes!” It was an ominous sign when Aunt Polly addressed any one as “sir.” “But that was before our time. Peter and I cleaned the place out as best we could, but there are times now, even, while I sit here alone in the dark, when I seem to see shadows of poor wives and mothers and children stealing in that door a-looking for their men. Don’t that thought ever haunt you, Mr. Maclin, over at the Cosey Bar?”
They were sparring, these two.
“No, it never does. I take things as they are, Miss Heathcote, and let them go at that. Now, if I were to run this place, do you know, I’d do it right and proper and have a what’s what and make money.”
“But you’re not running this inn, sir.”