"I don't believe in his lands. Because folks say he's got bit in his lands, and can't sell for what he gin for 'em, though he says they will fetch three times what they cost him. If they'd fetch what he gin for 'em he'd sell 'em. I almost know he's got bit on 'em. But he can't have my money; he owes me ten thousand dollars now. I've worked hard for what little I've got, and I ain't a goin' to have it fooled away in no land speculation."
It seemed to me that the old lady understood her son's case perfectly; and my own observation fully confirmed her statement. The junior partner was certainly in a tight place.
"My two married daughters, that need the money more'n Charles does, would never get a cent of my property if I should let him have it. I ain't a goin' to do it, not if I should die afore mornin'."
"I don't think you are in any immediate danger, Mrs. Whippleton," I replied; and I did not believe that one who could talk as fast as she did was in any present peril.
"But Charles will pester the life out of me to get this money and these papers. I'm afraid he's been doin' something that's wrong."
"What do you wish me to do for you?"
"I'll tell you, Philip. I know you're honest, and I will trust you just as far as any human bein' can be trusted," she continued; but she paused again, and I concluded that she was not quite satisfied to trust even me.
"You believe I can trust you—don't you?" she added, taking the valuable package from under the bed-clothes.
"You must be your own judge, Mrs. Whippleton."
"I know I can!" she exclaimed, suddenly. "You would not rob a poor woman who is on her dying bed."