"It's a tight time in Brookville."
"I know."
"And still better for my purpose," said Dyer, in a low, meaning, voice; "drunkards have few friends; none, in fact, willing to risk their money on them. Put the screws to Bacon, and his farm will drop into my hands like a ripe cherry."
"You can hardly call Bacon a drunkard. You never see him staggering about, nor lounging in bar-rooms."
"Do you remember his farm seven years ago?"
"Perfectly well."
"Look at it now."
"There's a great difference, certainly."
"Isn't there! What's the reason of this?"
"Intemperance, I suppose."