“Sure! We'll go right to Rowley. He'll know. If there's anything in this section that he 'ain't got his finger on some way—bill of sale, mortgage, debt owed to him or expecting to be owed, then it ain't worth noticing.”
Mr. Rowley listened in his back office. He stroked his beard contentedly and beamed his pleasure when he saw the prospect of making another profitable dicker with men who seemed to be reliable and energetic.
“I had a mortgage on the Ethel and May when Captain Tebbets passed on to the higher life,” he informed them. “Widder gave up the schooner when I foreclosed, she not desiring to—er—bother with vessel proputty. So I have it free and clear without it standing me such a terrible sum! Shall be pleased to charter to you gents at a reasonable figure. Furthermore, seeing that industry makes for righteousness, so we are told, your plan of making those critters go to work may be a good one, providing you'll use a club on 'em often enough.”
“From what I've heard of your talk in prayer-meeting I should think you'd advise moral suasion,” suggested Captain Candage, plainly relishing this opportunity to “bingdoodle.”
“I use common sense, whether it's in religion or politics or business,” snapped Rowley, exhibiting a bit of un-Christian heat.
“It's advisable to ile up common sense with a little charity, and then the machine won't squeak so bad.”
“I wouldn't undertake to trot a dogfish on my knee or sing him to sleep with a pennyr'yal hymn, Captain Candage.”
“I think we can show results without the club,” interposed Mayo, with mild intent to smooth the tone of this repartee.
The clerk called Mr. Rowley out into the store on some matter of special importance, and the selectman departed, coming down rather hard on his heels.
“The old Adam sort of torches up through his shell once in a while,” commented Candage.