“He gave because he wanted to keep his promise, not because he was forced to by that paper.”
“Likely story,” said Simon Basset.
“I tell you it's so.”
“Likely story, Seth Prescott ever give it if he wa'n't obliged to. Ye can't trap me.”
“Go and ask him, if you don't believe me,” said Jerome.
“Ye don't trap me, I'm too old.”
“Go and ask Lawyer Means, then.”
“I guess, when ye git me into that pesky lawyer's clutches, ye'll know it! Ye can't trap me. I guess I know more about law than ye do, ye damned little upstart ye! Why couldn't ye have kept your dead man's shoes to home, darn ye? Ye'll come on the town yerself, yet; ye won't have money enough to pay fer your buryin', an' I hope to God ye won't! Curse ye! I'll live to see ye in your pauper's grave yet, old 's I be. Ye thief! I tell ye, I 'ain't got no money. I 'ain't got more'n five thousand dollars, countin' everythin' in the world, an' I'll see ye all damned to hell afore I'll give ye a dollar. Let me out, will ye?” Simon Basset made a clawing, cat-like rush through the crowd to the door.
“I tell you, Simon Basset, you haven't got to give a dollar,” shouted Jerome; but he might as well have shouted to the wind.
“No use, J'rome,” chuckled the shock-headed young man, “he's gone plumb crazy over it. You can't make him listen to nothin'.”