“Don’t brother me! You’ve lent your name to a swindle, and you ought to be ashamed of yourself. I can stand my loss, and it will teach me not to trust a minister again, but there are others, widows and orphans, who have put their all into your infernal scheme, and they can’t stand it. You’ve made them beggars just to fatten yourself.”
The clergyman grew ghastly pale as he listened, and even Claymore, who was still with him, looked troubled.
“This is dreadful!” gasped Mr. Judson. “I’d die if I believed it to be half true!”
“Then you’d better die,” retorted Folsom. “That’s all I’ve got to say. I’ve looked at that wonderful land the company bought, and there isn’t enough oil in it to fill a lamp. Not a dollar that’s been put into it will ever be got out again. But you’ll be fairly well off with the money you’ve got from the widows and orphans—if you don’t get into jail for swindling.”
With this Mr. Folsom strode away.
“What does it mean?” asked Mr. Judson.
“Sore head, that’s all,” responded Claymore. “He doesn’t know what he’s talking about——”
“But he seems to. Mr. Claymore, if I find that there has been any dishonest work in this business I shall expose it all, understand that. I shall die of the shame of it, but I will not commit suicide until I have seen that the really guilty parties are punished.”
“Come, Mr. Judson, don’t talk of suicide. That’s foolish. You’re not used to business, that’s all.”