“Listen to reason, Mrs. R——,” said the land speculator. “If you will sign the papers before the proper authorities, the next time your son drives you to C——, I will give you a silk gown.”
“Pshaw! Buy a shroud for yourself; you will need it before I want a silk gown,” was the ungracious reply.
“Consider woman; a black silk of the best quality.”
“To mourn in for my sins, or for the loss of the farm?”
“Twelve yards,” continued Mr. ——, without noticing her rejoinder, “at a dollar a yard. Think what a nice church-going gown it will make.”
“To the devil with you! I never go to church.”
“I thought as much,” said Mr. ——, winking to us. “Well, my dear madam, what will satisfy you?”
“I'll do it for twenty dollars,” returned the old woman, rocking herself to and fro in her chair; her eyes twinkling, and her hands moving convulsively, as if she already grasped the money so dear to her soul.
“Agreed,” said the land speculator. “When will you be in town?”
“On Tuesday, if I be alive. But, remember, I'll not sign till I have my hand on the money.”