"It ain't true! I didn't agree to pay him! You can't prove it! I deny everything!"
"Yo' ain't b'lieved," calmly drawled Waseche. "How much yo got down altogetheh, son?"
"Eleven thousand five hundred dollars."
"Now, theah's this heah int'rest. Ten peh cent, wornt it, Misteh Squigg?" But Mr. Squigg only growled.
"Twelve thousand six hundred and fifty, all told," computed Connie. Waseche turned to the infuriated Mr. Squigg.
"That's what's owin' to Pete Mateese. C'n yo' pay it—now?"
"No, I can't! An' I never will! Yo' can't enforce no such high-handed proceedin's! It ain't accordin' to law!"
"It's accordin' to Ten Bow, though," answered Waseche, shortly. "An' seein' yo ain' got the cash oah the dust, we-all'll jest trouble yo' to make oveh yo' claim to Pete Mateese. An' bein' yo' only give ten thousan' fo' it, yo' c'n give yo' note fo' the balance. Give him the pen, son."
"I won't do it! This is an outrage!" whined the man.