"I take it he's plumb crazy," retorted the agent, rubbing the fringe of hair behind his ears. "One thing's certain boys, I don't do nuthin' foolish till I see the color of his money."
"Make him send you ten dollars in advance," suggested Seth.
"Make him send fifty," amended the store-keeper. "You can't buy a cow, an' pigs, an' chickens, an' make repairs on much less."
"By jinks, I will!" cried McNutt, slapping his leg for emphasis. "I'll strike him fer a cool fifty, an' if the feller don't pay he kin go to blazes. Them's my sentiments, boys, an' I'll stand by 'em!"
The others regarded him admiringly, so the energetic little man stumped away to indite his characteristic letter to Major Doyle.
If the first communication had startled the little village, the second fairly plunged it into a panic of excitement. Peggy's hand trembled as he held out the five hundred dollar draft and glared from it to his cronies with a white face.
"Suff'rin' Jehu!" gasped Nick Thorne. "Is it good?"
The paper was passed reverently around, and examined with a succession of dubious head-shakes.
"Send for Bob West," suggested Cotting. "He's seen more o' that sort o' money than any of us."
The widow Clarke's boy, who was present, ran breathlessly to fetch the hardware dealer, who answered the summons when he learned that Peggy McNutt had received a "check" for five hundred dollars.