“Think ye a town meeting can lay a tax levy?” contemptuously demanded Mr. Meredith. “None but the—”
“’T is n’t to be nothing but a voluntary contribution,” interrupted Bagby, grinning broadly, “and no man ’s expected to give more than his proportion, as settled by his last rates.”
“An’ no man ’s expected ter give less, nuther,” said a voice back in the crowd.
“So if you’ve nine pounds seven and four with you, squire,” went on Bagby, “’t will save you a special trip over to pay it.”
“I’ll see ye all damned first!” retorted the squire, warmly. “Why don’t ye knock me down and take my purse, and have done with it?”
“’T would be the sensible thing with such a tarnal cross tyke,” shouted some one.
“Everything fair and orderly is the way we work,” continued the committee man. “But we want that nine pounds odd, and ’t will be odd if we don’t get it.”
“You’ll not get it from me,” asserted the squire, turning to walk away.
As he did so, half a dozen hands were laid upon his arms from behind, and he was held so firmly that he could not move.
“Shall we give him a black coat, Joe?” asked some one.