“Well, tomorrow ain’t going to do—don’t you know! I’ve given you time enough on this, Winslow. You ain’t—you ain’t square with me. That’s what I don’t like. You’ve promised and promised. You begged me not to send the bill to your folks, and I didn’t. But times are hard and we need the money. What’s more we intend to have it.” Mr. Fallow moved ponderously toward the door. “I’m square with folks that are square with me, son; no one can’t say I don’t treat ’em fair; but I ain’t no one’s fool.”
“No, indeed, sir; anyone could see that, Mr. Fallow.” Hugh was thinking hard. “I say, would—would six dollars be any use to you?”
Mr. Fallow snorted. “It would not! Nor sixteen dollars! Nor—nor twenty-six dollars! I want thirty-four dollars and sixty cents. That’s what I want and that’s what I intend to have. If you can pay me that now, all right. If you can’t, say so. I can’t waste any more time here.”
“Well, but, that’s a lot of money to get hold of on short notice,” said Hugh ingratiatingly. “Suppose now I scrape up, say, twenty dollars, eh? And then pay the rest this week.”
Mr. Fallow hesitated and frowned deeply. “If you’ve got twenty why can’t you get hold of the rest?” he asked finally.
“I haven’t got twenty, sir. I’ve got only six. But I fancy I may be able to scrape up the rest if you’ll give me a few minutes.”
“Well—I—all right.” Mr. Fallow reseated himself. “But, mind you, I won’t take a cent less than twenty. And I ain’t going to stick around here all afternoon, either. You get a move on, son.”
“I’ll be as quick as I know how, sir. You’ll find some magazines on that table there. Just—just make yourself comfortable, sir.”
Mr. Fallow grunted.
A minute later there was a sharp knock on Cathcart’s door and in response to his “Come in!” Hugh entered.