“Read that.”
Hiram Still took up the letter and, putting on his glasses, read it laboriously. His face turned as red as his son’s had turned white. He slammed the letter on the table and hammered his clenched fist down on it.
“You ain’t good enough for ’em! Well, I’ll show ’em. I’ll turn ’em out in the road and make their place a nigger settlement. I’ll show ’em who they’re turnin’ their noses up at. I’ll show ’em who Hiram Still is. I’ll make Leech Governor, and turn him loose on ’em, if it takes every cent I’ve got in the world.” He filled his glass. “We’ll show ’em yet who we are. When I’m settin’ up here and you’re settin’ up thar they’ll begin to think maybe after all they’ve made a little mistake.”
Still was as good as his word. Within a day or two, Dr. Cary received a letter from him asking the payment of his obligations which he held. He assigned the necessity he was under to raise a large sum of money himself.
The Doctor wrote in reply that it was quite impossible for him to raise the money to pay the debts, and begged that Still would without delay take the necessary steps to close the matter up, assuring him that he should not only not throw any obstacle in his way, but would further his object as far as lay in his power.
Steve urged the Doctor to make a fight, declaring that he could defer the sale for at least two years, maybe more, and times might change; but Dr. Cary declined.
“What can I do? I owe a debt and I cannot pay it. I might as well save the man the mortification of telling a multitude of unnecessary lies.”
So in a little while Still, through Leech, his counsel, had subjected the Doctor’s property to his debts and was in possession of Birdwood as well as Red Rock.
Mrs. Cary and Blair left their roses and jonquils and with the Doctor moved to the old Bellows place, where they were as happy as they had ever been in the days of their greatest prosperity. Old Tarquin, who accompanied them, observed his master closely and followed his example, carrying his head as high as if he still walked the big halls and polished floors of Birdwood. Mammy Krenda alone was unhappy. She could not reconcile herself to the change. The idea of “dat nigger-trader an’ overseer ownin’ her old marster’s place, an’ o’ her young mistis havin’ to live in de blacksmiff’ house,” was more than the old woman could bear.