“It’s just as well to be a little careful,” said he, “for if that man knew that I was talking about him he’d take it out of me quick enough, I tell you.”
“You seem to be afraid of him.”
“We’re all afraid of him in the village, and hate him; but I hope to God he’ll catch it yet!”
“How can you be afraid of him? You all say that this is a free country.”
“No man, Sir, in any country, is free, except he’s rich. Poor people can be oppressed in many ways; and most of us are in one way or other dependent on him. We hate him all the worse, though. But I’ll tell you about him.”
“Yes, go on.”
“Well, Sir, old Mr. Brandon, about twenty years ago, was one of the richest men in the county. About fifteen years ago the man Potts turned up, and however the old man took a fancy to him I never could see, but he did take a fancy to him, put all his money in some tin mines that Potts had started, and the end of it was Potts turned out a scoundrel, as every one said he would, swindled the old man out of every penny, and ruined him completely. Brandon had to sell his estate, and Potts bought it with the very money out of which he had cheated the old man.”
“Oh! impossible!” said Brandon. “Isn’t that some village gossip?”
“I wish it was, Sir—but it ain’t. Go ask any man here, and he’ll tell you the same.”
“And what became of the family?” asked Brandon, calmly.