“I’m pesky glad you’ve driv’ the two of ’em out of town,” he said, with grim satisfaction. “There wa’n’t either of ’em any good to the place, and I’m sayin’ it to you, even if one of ’em is your own brother.”
The Squire walked back into the yard without replying. “Figger-Four” hopped along beside him.
“I’ve come up to resign,” he continued. “I wish I could have told him so to his face. I was goin’ to inform him that I wouldn’t work another hour for him, not if he was the Great Kajam of Pee-ru and paid me five dollars a second. He owes me two dollars and a half as it is, and I want you to collect it for me, Squire.”
“My brother hasn’t gone away,” snapped the lawyer from the door-stoop. He wanted the man to leave.
“If that wa’n’t goin’ away, then what do you call it?” squealed Avery, snapping up to his full height and pointing his hand at the turn of the road. “He wasn’t comin’, was he, with his four hosses and his circus cart?”
“You go home and keep still,” commanded the Squire. “Hiram will be here to-morrow and will pay you if he owes you anything.”
He went into the kitchen and slammed the door.
“If the Looks can’t act out hogs when they’re a mind to, then I don’t want a cent,” growled Avery, scowling at the door. “But they ain’t goin’ to cheat me out of two dollars and a half, not if the court knows herself, and she thinks she do.”
After another surly look at the closed door he went around the barn. The other vans were in their usual place.
“There’s property enough left. I can sue and attach,” pondered the creditor.