“Yes; he is very fond of whisky, and there is a place at the foot of the hill where drink can be obtained. It is kept by a negro, a man of bad reputation.”
“Then let us go there. There is no time to be lost,” said Wentworth, anxiously.
As they walked along Wentworth broached the old subject of selling the cabin and the land attached.
“I think you make a mistake, Gerald,” he said, “in not selling me the cabin. Two hundred dollars would be very useful to you.”
“The place is worth more.”
“I offered you two hundred and fifty, and I stand by that offer.”
“I may desire to sell it some time, but not at present.”
“You don’t mean to remain here after your father dies?”
“Please don’t refer to that, Mr. Wentworth,” said Gerald with emotion. “I don’t want to think of it.”
“But you know he can’t recover.”