When the door had slammed behind him, the men looked at one another curiously. “You don't s'pose J'rome will do it,” one said, meditatively.
“He'll do it when the river runs uphill an' crows are white,” answered another, with a hard laugh.
“I dun'no',” said another, doubtfully. “J'rome Edwards 's always been next-door neighbor to a fool, an' there's no countin' on what a fool 'll do!”
“S'pose you'd calculate on comin' in for some of the fool's money, if he should give it up,” remarked a dry and unexpected voice at his elbow.
The man looked around and saw Ozias Lamb. “Ye don't think he'll do it, do ye?” he cried, eagerly.
“'Ain't got nothin' to say,” replied Ozias. “I s'pose when a fool does part with his money, there's always wise men 'nough to take it.”
John Upham, who, with some meagre little purchases in hand, had been listening to the discussion, started for the door. When he had opened it, he turned and faced them. “I'll tell ye one thing, all of ye,” he said, “an' that is, he'll do it.”
There was a clamor of astonishment. “How d'ye know it? Did he tell ye so?” they shouted.
“Wait an' see,” returned John Upham, and went out.
Plodding along his homeward road, a man passed him at a rapid stride. John Upham started. “Hullo, J'rome,” he called, but getting no response, thought he had been mistaken.