"There it is. Look at it!" said Chesney, pointing to the ruined trees.
"Ah, don't be pokin' your fun at me. 'Tis cash I want, not froze-up oranges."
Terence turned on the man. "Ye know full well, Cassidy, 'twas the crop we were going to pay ye out of. The crop's gone, and ye'll not be brute enough to want us to pay ye on the nail."
Cassidy's ugly little eyes narrowed. "I can't help the frost," he said. "I'm a business man, and I'm wanting my money."
"Then you'll have to wait for it," said Arnold Chesney bluntly. "We haven't got it, so we can't pay. Is that clear?"
"Clear as soup, begob. An' as ye can't pay, thin I'll take th' grove. An' that's clear, too."
"Not so fast," retorted Chesney. "The law gives us a clear twenty-eight days. If we pay the interest within that time we're safe."
Cassidy scowled. He had not credited the boy with so much knowledge.
"'Twill take more than twinty-eight days to grow a new crop," he sneered. "I'll give ye what grace the law allows, an' not another hour. Ye'd best write north for th' money. Ye'll never make it in th' time. That I know."
"What do you bet?" cried Arnold sharply. "What do you bet we don't make a hundred dollars in the next four weeks?"