“Gentlemen, I must go down and pay my respects to Mrs. Quinby, and beg one of those nice doughnuts off'n her. Me and my friend will return soon, I hope, to say that he has reconsidered his decision, and will go with me to pay me the visit I want him to.” And they locked arms and walked off, two as simple-souled men as you'd wish to see.
We owe it to Mrs. Quinby for a knowledge of what happened down to Silas's. She listened at the keyhole after she'd fed Pendagrast a plate of doughnuts and some buttermilk.
“You're actin' very wrong, Silas, to keep them folks from sellin' their land when they got the chance,” Pendagrast says, after a little friendly talk. “Yes, Mr. Miller's told me all about it. They are thinkin' of havin' you locked up in an asylum somewheres, and you'd better destroy them papers. I doubt if they are legal—”
“They're legal,” says Silas, smilin' his sweetest. “I'd stake my life on that.”
“Have you ever thought of them poor fellows and their bitter disappointment?” says Pendagrast, his voice tremblin'. “Have you put yourself in their place, my friend? Have you applied that great moral test to the situation? Before we go any further, would you like to kneel down beside me and say your prayers?” he says. “I know the temptations of greed, that money's the root of all evil. It can do no hurt,” he urged in that gentle winnin' voice of his.
And Mrs. Quinby, beyond the door, covered her head with her apron, she was that moved by the simple soul's eloquence. She missed Silas's answer, but she heard Pendagrast go on.
“I tremble for your safety here, Silas—even your temporal safety, my friend. Every man in the valley's got land to sell, and now it looks like their opportunity has come, and you're blockin' the deal. It's cruel of you, Silas,” he says. “And they're a rough lot—rough, but gentle, and they may do you bodily harm, like tarrin' and featherin' you without meanin' to. I can't bear to think of that, Silas; it hurts me here,” he said, restin' his hand on his wish-bone. “And you can't pray, my friend. It's a bad sign, Silas, when a man loses the power to pray; it shows he's walked afar with false gods,” he says.
“They don't know what's best for them,” says Silas. “I got a buyer for their land. It'll be sold in good time—”
“What!” gasps Pendagrast, turnin' white.
“I say I've found a purchaser for their land.”