“Certainly not,” said the Squire hastily; “but you can’t pay your debts nor your current expenses, and Crupp and I are a little ahead in the world, and willing to give you a hundred, say—a little at a time.”
“You’ve got a couple of boys to bring up, you know, Bunley,” suggested Crupp.
“And they ought to go among the best people, too,” said the Squire. “You came of a good family——”
“And their mother was a lady, too—every inch of her!” exclaimed Bunley.
“Of course she was,” said Crupp. “But, to come back to business, we don’t want you to have any excuse to touch whisky again, and we want you to live on us for the next three months as a personal favor. After that, if you make any money, I s’pose the Squire’ll be glad to sell you anything he keeps in his store; I know I will, if I’m in business then. But you mustn’t talk about paying now, ’cause it’s all nonsense. Come up to the Squire’s store when you want anything. Good-by.”
Bunley drew himself up with great solemnity and old-time courtesy as he shook hands with both men. When his visitors reached the friendly angle of an old, abandoned barn, both turned hastily, gazed through cracks between the boards, and saw the old man sitting in a meditative attitude, with his lower jaw in both his hands.
“Don’t that look good?” whispered Crupp, his face all animation.
“It does that,” replied the Squire; “there’s no dodging the question; it does look good.”