“No, no! not now, since you’ve taken this honorable course, Jack! I’ll trust you; only—”
“Please don’t say anything more about that, Mr. Chatford! And don’t worry about me. I’ve been inside the jail; I know how it is there. I shall be well off, with these books. Good by!”
“Better let him try it a spell, deacon!” laughed Sellick, as he touched up his horse.
“The boy—somehow he makes me love him!” muttered the deacon, gazing after the buggy with troubled, yearning eyes. “I love him, and I believe him!” And he hurried home.
“Tell you what, sonny!” said Sellick, who had his own selfish reasons for cutting short this interview before it should lead to a better understanding, “I’ve thought what I’ll do. Promise to come and work for me, and I’ll go bail for you. You shall kind o’ work for your board till arter your trial; then, if you git clear, we’ll strike a bargain for a year. What do you say?”
Jack thought of his books, and of Sellick’s bad reputation as an employer, and said to himself, “If he bails me, he’ll expect me to hire out to him anyway, for whatever he chooses to pay. In a year I should be as hollow-cheeked and round-shouldered as poor Billy! Working for my board till my trial comes off, means working like a slave for nothing. I’d rather have a little time to read and study.” Then he said aloud, “I guess, Mr. Sellick, if it’s the same thing to you, I’d a little rather go to jail.”
“To jail it is, then!” said Sellick, snappishly, for he felt keenly the force of this reply; and he gave his horse a cut.