“Mr. Chew,” says he meekly, “is it possible for you to let bygones be bygones and do me a favor?”
“No, sir!” the old tub thundered, with hatred in his green eyes. “You’ll get no favors from me. To the contrary, I’m going to make you sweat for last night’s attack. You’ll suffer under the law for that.”
Poppy was crushed, and showed it.
“I was going to ask you,” he hung his head, “if you cared if Mrs. Doane took home the red-plush settee in the hall.”
“Mrs. Doane will get nothing out of this house.”
“Maybe you’ll sell it to us, so we can give it to her.”
“I wouldn’t sell it to you for a thousand dollars,” came meanly, “if I knew she wanted it.”
Some old hog, huh? Well, I’m glad to write down in conclusion that the good old lady did get her settee—with ten thousand dollars on top of it—and all fatty got, after all of his crooked work, was what the little boy shot at. Which is the way things should be.
To show you how much “brotherly love” he had for the New Zion bunch, he practically put them out of business by making them pay fourteen per cent on money that they owed the Danver estate. The estate got five per cent and old grab-it-all got the rest!
And thus reminded of old Goliath, you’ll give us the horselaugh when I tell you the truth about him. He wasn’t married at all. Furthermore, he was the only man left in the religious camp—he was so hard-boiled and such a liar that the others, in moving away, wouldn’t even take him with them, though earlier they had tried to use him and reform him. No wonder the “town” had looked deserted the day we rode through it in state—after having coughed up two dollars for the privilege! The houses had been empty for six months. And we had swallowed that “picnic” story! Old Goliath sure worked us slick. I suppose he’s laughing about it to this day. Well, we should worry. We still have his hair!