“Well; is there any thing you want of me? I’m in a hurry.”
“Yes,” said the stranger, “I reached the village to-day to call at the bank, but found it closed.”
“Oh! I suppose you’ve got a draft on me, too.”
“Yes,” said the stranger, mysteriously. “I suppose I may call it a draft.”
“There’s no use in troubling your head about it, then,” returned Potts; “I won’t pay.”
“You won’t?”
“Not a penny.”
A sharp, sudden smile of contempt flashed over the stranger’s face.
“Perhaps if you knew what the draft is, you would feel differently.”
“I don’t care what it is.”