"Good morning," returned the tavern-keeper, formally. His usual smile was absent from his face.
"Sharp day, this."
"Yes, rather keen."
"Won't you walk in and take something?"
"No, thank you. H-h-e-em!"
There was a pause.
"Mr. Bacon."
The farmer's eye sunk beneath the cold steady look of Dyer.
"Mr. Bacon, I guess I shall have to call on you for them three hundred dollars," said the tavern-keeper, in a firm voice.
"Can't pay that mortgage now, Mr. Dyer," returned Bacon, with a troubled expression; "no use to think of it."