The elder was not in the best of humor when he arrived, and his state of mind had not improved. He waited full a minute as he surveyed the man of business.
“I thought I mout be able to make some arrangements with you to git some money, but I reckon I was mistaken.” The warehouse man came nearer.
“This is Mr. Brown, I believe. I did not recognize you at once. You are not in often to see us.”
“No; my wife usually ’tends to the town bizness, while I run the church and farm. Got a fall from my donkey this morning,” he said, noticing a quizzical, interrogating look upon the face before him, “and fell squar’ on the hat.” He made a pretense of smoothing it. The man of business had already lost interest.
“How much money will you want, Mr. Brown?”
“Well, about seven hundred dollars,” said the elder, replacing his hat, and turning a furtive look upon the warehouse man. The other was tapping with his pencil upon the little shelf lying across the rail.
“I can get you five hundred.”
“But I oughter have seven.”
“Can’t arrange for that amount. Wait till later in the season, and come again. Money is very tight now. How much cotton will you raise?”
“Well, I count on a hundr’d bales. An’ you can’t git the sev’n hundr’d dollars?”