"Quite possible, sir. Have you the mortgage with you?"
"Yes."
"Here is a release which you will please sign. Father, you had better pay the squire at once."
Mr. Grant took out a big wallet, and counted out thirty one-hundred-dollar bills.
"I believe that is correct, squire," he said.
"No, it isn't. You haven't paid the interest," snarled the squire.
"Here is another hundred dollars—that will cover it."
Ten minutes later Squire Carter left the farmhouse with a heavy frown upon his face. He was bitterly disappointed, and the money did not console him.
This was not the last of his disappointments. His brother's widow in New York sued him for an accounting of his father's estate, and he was obliged, not long afterward, to pay her five thousand dollars. This put the widow and her son in a comfortable position, but seriously embarrassed the squire, who had lost money by ill-advised speculation.
Two years later he had to sell his fine place and take a much humbler one half a mile from the village. Conrad was obliged to seek a place, and is bitterly humiliated because he receives but four dollars a week, while the boy he used to look down upon is prosperous and successful.