“Lawyers’ money comes dretful easy,” growled Badger. “’Tain’t like diggin’ it out of a farm.” He pondered, screwing up his eyes and calculating. “I should say if you’d draw up one that couldn’t be busted I’d be willin’ to pay a shillin’.” He made a move to draw his wallet, but the lawyer put up his hand.
“I’ll tell you what I’ll do with you, Sum. If you’ll carry home to-day a good big piece of steak and eat it with your wife—lots of butter on it—I’ll draw your will for nothing.”
Badger surveyed him dubiously and with sullen suspicion.
“We don’t go much on meat vittles to our house—not with beef prices stuck ’way up where they be.”
“That’s my price. And it’s got to be sirloin, not round.”
The lawyer saw by the expression on Badger’s face that he had anticipated the old man’s prompt thought as to quality.
“Steak’s steak, ain’t it?” he muttered. “I never heard of payin’ a lawyer’s bill in no sech fashion, but”—he sighed—“I’ll do it.”
“And aren’t you going to thank me into the bargain?” demanded the Squire. “I usually get five dollars, at least, for a document of this sort.”
“I reckon it’s lib’ral as law goes, Squire.” He suddenly warmed a bit. “You’ve been reasonable with me. Now I’ll do something for you. You’ve allus kind of cocked your nose up at s’p’tu’lism. I know it. You needn’t tell me! Now it’s goin’ to be worth something for you to reelly know whether there’s anything on the Other Side. So after I arrive there and git a little bit wonted to the place I’ll come back and appear to you and tell you all about it.”
“Oh, no, Sum,” expostulated the lawyer, his face serious. “I couldn’t think of asking you to take all that trouble for a hard old nut like me.”