“You've said a good deal. If you say any more of the same kind you can say it to yourself. I tell you, honest, I don't like the way you say it.”
The owner of the “hen-house” looked as if he wished very much to retort in kind. The glare he gave his visitor prophesied direful things. But he did not retort; nor, to her surprise, did he raise his voice or order her off the premises. Instead his tone, when he spoke again, was quiet, even conciliatory.
“I—I'm sorry if I've said anything I shouldn't,” he stammered. “I'm gettin' old and—and sort of short in my talk, maybe. I—I—there's a good many folks round here that don't like me, 'count of my doin' business in a business way, 'stead of doin' it like the average poor fool. I suppose they've been talkin' to you and you've got sort of prejudiced. Well, I don't know's I blame you for that. I shan't hold no grudge. How much of a mortgage do you cal'late to want on Abner's place?”
“Two thousand dollars.”
“Two thousand! . . . There, there! Hold on, hold on! Two thousand dollars is a whole lot of money. It don't grow on every bush.”
“I know that as well as you do. If I did I'd have picked it afore this.”
“Um—hm. How long a time do you want?”
“I don't know. Three years, perhaps.”
Solomon shook his head.
“Too long,” he said. “I couldn't give as long a mortgage as that to anybody. No, I couldn't do it. . . . Tell you what I will do,” he added. “I—I don't want to act mean to a relation. I think as much of relations as anybody does. I'd like to favor you and I will if I can. You give me a week to think this over in and then I'll let you know what I'll do. That's fair, ain't it?”