On Tuesday afternoon, Joshua Starr called at the office of Brandon Ross, the lawyer.
“To-day’s the day when we are to call on the Widder Gordon for my money, lawyer, isn’t it?” he said.
“Yes, Mr. Starr. Do you propose to come with me?”
“Yes.”
“It isn’t necessary.”
“You see, Squire, I thought I could take a look at the furniture,” suggested old Joshua, “and decide what I’ll take. It ain’t likely that the widder’ll have the money to pay the note—at least, not all of it, and I’ll have to take it out in what she’s got.”
“You are a hard man, Mr. Starr. I shouldn’t like to be owing you money which I couldn’t pay.”
“You’re jokin’, squire. There ain’t anything wrong in my wantin’ my money, is there?”
“No; still you’re a rich man, and Mrs. Gordon is a poor woman.”
“That ain’t neither here nor there,” said Joshua Starr, evidently annoyed. “My money’s my own, I take it, and I’m entitled to it. If Mr. Gordon borrowed money, it stands to reason that his widder ought to pay it,” he concluded, triumphantly.