“Seven thousand dollars!” muttered the Squire. “Why, this town hasn’t——”
“There ain’t nothin’ out of the way, is there, about me havin’ a town note?” Badger went on. He paused a moment, then added, “So long as you’re my lawyer and one of the trustees and I’m goin’ to die and shan’t be lendin’ the money any longer, I tell you that’s a good way to let your money out—on a town note.”
For the first time since he had come into the office his face twisted into something like a smile. He leaned forward and whispered:
“Says the Judge to me, ‘You keep right still about how you’ve lent this money to the town and you won’t git taxed. So long’s it’s between you and me it won’t git onto the assessors’ books.’”
The Squire had the note spread before him and was studying it, his hands clutched into his thick hair, his elbows on the table.
“Yess’r, the Judge says, ‘You’re a friend of mine, Sum, and so long’s you keep still you’ll git your six per cent, and not be taxed on it!’ But there ain’t no need of keepin’ still any longer. I shan’t need extra int’rest. You can collect as soon as I’m dead.”
“Sum,” said the Squire, slowly lifting his eyes to the old man’s face—eyes in which there was a sort of shocked bewilderment, “I don’t want you to say anything about this note. It isn’t to be talked of.”
“But I’ve told Figger-Four Avery about it,” cried Badger, looking scared.
“Figger-Four Avery!” Squire Phin shouted the name. “Why, you might as well have put it into the Seaside Oracle. What do you want to go blurting your affairs for?”
“He was inquirin’ on bus’ness for your brother Hime,” faltered Badger. “He said Hime was borryin’ and lendin’ and was willing to pay seven per cent. Figger-Four is clerkin’ for Hime and gittin’ facts and figgers for him, and you know it jest as well as I do.”