“I don't like the water.”
“But you can see that we are going to succeed if we get more money. You have five thousand in the project; you can't afford to drop where you are.”
“I know what I can afford to do. I have always said, from the first, that you'd never make a go of it.”
At this statement Mayo displayed true amazement.
“But, confound it all, you lent us money! What do you mean by crawfishing in this way?”
Deacon Rowley was visibly embarrassed; he had dropped to this vitally interested party a damaging admission of his real sentiments.
“I mean that I ain't going to dump any more money in, now that you ain't making good! I might have believed you the first time you came. I reckon I must have. But you can't fool me again. No use to coax! Not another cent.”
“Aren't you worried about how you're going to get back what you have already lent?” demanded Mayo, with exasperation.
“The Lord will provide,” declared Deacon Rowley, devoutly.
The young man stared at this amazing creditor, worked his jaws a few moments wordlessly, found no speech adequate, and stamped out of the store. He no longer dreaded to meet Polly Candage. He felt that he needed to see her. He was seeking the comfort of sanity in that shore world of incomprehensible lunacy; he had had experience with Polly Candage's soothing calmness.