“And what ’s that?” asked Mr. Meredith, still dwelling on his revenge.
“I need n’t tell you, squire, that I’m a rising man, and I’m going to go on rising. ’T won’t be long before I’m about what I please, especially if we make a deal. Now, though there has n’t been much intercourse between us, yet I’ve had my eye on your daughter for a long spell, and if you’ll give your consent to my keeping company with her, I’ll be your friend through thick and thin.”
For a moment Mr. Meredith stood with wide-open mouth, then he roared: “Damn your impudence! ye—ye—have my lass, ye—be off with ye—ye—” There all articulate speech ended, the speaker only sputtering in his wrath, but his two fists, shaken across the wall, spoke eloquently the words that choked him.
“I thought you ’d play the fool, as usual,” retorted the suitor, as he pulled his horse’s head around. “You’ll live to regret this day, see if you don’t.” And with this vague threat he trotted away toward Brunswick.
Whether Bagby had purposely magnified the danger with the object of frightening the squire into yielding to his wishes, or whether he and Hennion were outvoted by Parson McClave and the other members of the Committee, Mr. Meredith never learned. Of what was resolved he was not left long in doubt, for the morning following, the whole Committee, with a contingent of the Invincibles, invaded the privacy of Greenwood, and required of him that he surrender to them such arms as he was possessed of, and sign a parol that he would in no way give aid or comfort to the invaders. To these two requirements the squire yielded, at heart not a little comforted that the proceedings against him were no worse, though vocally he protested at such “robbery and coercion.”
“Ye lord it high-handedly now,” he told the party, “but ye’ll sing another song ere long.”
“Yer’ve been predictin’ thet fer some time,” chuckled Hennion, aggravatingly.
“’T will come all the surer that it comes tardily. ‘Slow and sure doth make secure,’ as ye’ll dearly learn. We’ll soon see how debtors who won’t pay either principal or interest like the law!”
Hennion chuckled again. “Yer see, squire,” he said, “it don’t seem ter me ter be my interest ter pay principal, nor my principle ter pay interest. Ef I wuz yer, I would n’t het myself over them mogiges; I ain’t sweatin’.”
“I’ll sweat ye yet, ye old rascal,” predicted the creditor.