"What? Well, Weefer won't talk, but whether he can harness his wife's tongue when she's ready to show off that silk dress is another matter."
Philip started to go, and the clerk made haste to hide his face behind the deed, and silently chuckle himself towards a fit of apoplexy.
"You're absolutely sure that I've no way out of it?" Philip said, pausing for an instant.
"Absolutely," the clerk replied, with some difficulty, his face still behind the deed, "unless—you can find—a market—for—walnut stumps." Then the clerk coughed alarmingly, and Philip pulled his hat over his eyes and hurried away, with a consuming desire to mount his horse, overtake Weefer, shoot him to death, recover the wagon-load of goods, and particularly the silk dress given to Mrs. Weefer. When he reached the store, he found his wife looking pale and troubled; there were present also three men with very serious countenances, and one of them said:—
"Mr. Somerton, I s'pose?"
"Yes, sir. What can I do for you?"
"You can shell out my colt that's in your barn. I was goin' to take him whether or no, but your wife said you was a square man, an' would do what was right. Well, there's only one right thing in this case, an' that's to gimme back my colt."
"There are but two horses in my stable," said Philip. "One of them I've owned several months, and the other I bought yesterday."
"Who from?"
"From—" Philip took from his pocket the bill of sale and read from it the signature:—