“A tolerable falling off from the former year,” I observed. “There were ninety-five bales and fifty hogsheads.”
“If it doesn’t please the gentleman, he ought to have stopped at home, and not gone wandering over half the world instead of minding his affairs,” retorted Mr Bleaks.
“And leaving us to rot in this fever hole, without money or any thing else,” added his moiety.
“And further?” said I to the man.
“That’s all. I’ve received from Mr Merton 600 dollars: 300 more are still comin’ to me.”
“Very good.”
“And moreover,” continued Bleaks, “for Indian corn, meal, and hams, and salt pork, and blankets, and cotton stuffs, I have laid out 400 dollars, making 700, and 4000 hedge-stakes for mending fences, makes a total of 740 dollars.”
I ran into the next room, found a pen and ink upon my dilapidated writing-table, wrote an order on my banker, and came back again. At any price I was resolved to get rid of this man.
“Allow me,” said the Creole, who had been a silent witness of all that had passed, but who now attempted to take the paper from my hand.
“Pardon me, sir,” said I, vexed at the man’s meddling; “on this occasion I wish to be my own counsellor and master.”