'What was the quarrel about, father?'
'I've told you afore. A red spider. Taverner tried to sloke (draw) her away, when she was running straight as a line into my pocket. But I reckon he can't keep you for ever out of Langford. He may live for ten or twelve years out of wicked spite, but he is not immortal, and Langford will come to you in the end. Then you can clear off the mortgages.—I reckon I shall be gone then.'
'Don't say that, father.'
'I know I shall. When Taverner sloked that spider away he carried off my health, and I were took with the stroke immediately. I've not been myself since.' He continued rubbing his chin. 'And now comes this mortgage, and you laid up in bed as you never was before. It all comes o' sloking away the spider.'
'Father,' said Larry earnestly, but timorously: 'I wish you would let me bring another here.'
'Another what?'
'Red Spider.'
'What do you mean?'
'Honor Luxmore.'
The old man looked puzzled, then gradually an idea of his son's meaning crept into his head.