"What have you against him?"
"I don't say nothing against him," said Squire Deacon,—"except he's a fine man. Maybe you think that is."
"Is there anything further you would like to say on any subject, sir?"
"Not much, I guess, if that's the time o' day," said Squire Deacon looking at him with a queer little bit of a smile. "'Taint useful to get stirred up that way, doctor, just because a man wishes you a good journey. But I can just as easy wish you another overturn—I s'pose you're pretty sure to get one or t'other out o' the horses. It's all one to me—and I dare say it is to everybody else."
"What is your name, sir?" said the doctor standing and looking at him in a sort of mazed consideration.
"My name's Sam Deacon,"—said the Squire with his peculiar sort of sullen composure. "Your father and I've always been friends, anyhow."
"Then Mr. Deacon will you have the goodness to under stand that I am not an agent for the transaction of Mr. Linden's affairs; but as I am a friend of his, I will inform him that you are interested in the subject. That is all, sir?"
"I'll go bail for the first part of that!" said Squire Deacon. "But it's your affairs I'm talkin' of—not his'n. And I s'pose I've as good a right as all the rest of Pattaquasset—and give no offence, neither. I was goin' to make you my compliments, doctor—that's all; and if you don't think you'll ever want 'em, why there's no harm done—and enough said. All I want to know is, what do you get so stirred up for?"
"Is that all?" said the doctor, as if he had a mind to know the whole before giving an answer.
"All what?" said Squire Deacon.