Burson wiped the back of his neck with his handkerchief, dropped it into his hat, and shook the hat slowly and reflectively, keeping time with his head.
"If you'd kep' your money by you, allowin' that you loaned it to me,—because you the same as did,—if you'd kep' it by you or put it in the bank and let it lay idle, you'd 'a' had it. It wouldn't 'a' gone down any. You hadn't ought to lose anything, that I can see,—except of course for your mistake about Edmonson. That kind of hurts me about Edmonson. I wouldn't 'a' thought it of him. He always seemed a clever sort of fellow."
"Oh, Edmonson's all right," said Mr. Anthony; "he went into some things too heavily, and broke up. I guess he'll make it yet."
Burson looked relieved. "Then he'll straighten this up with you, after all," he said.
Mr. Anthony whistled noiselessly. "Well, hardly. He considers it straightened."
Burson turned his old hat slowly around between his knees.
"He's a fair-spoken man, Edmonson; I kind of think he'll square it up, after all," he said hopefully. "Anyway, it doesn't become me to throw stones till I've paid my own debts."
The hair that covered the speaker's mouth twitched a little in its effort to smile. He glanced at his companion expectantly.
"Could you come out and take a look at the place?" he asked.
Mr. Anthony slid down in his chair, and clasped his hands across his portliness.