“Cant help it,” says the banker.
Jobe he begged and plead for the money. Told him of our sellin Betty, and our wheat, and corn, and sheep, and hog, and quilts, and feathers, and chickens, and of his borrowin part of it from Bill Gerber—told him how he had tried to borrow the money to pay it all and couldent find any one that had it to loan; he showed him how, if we were foreclosed, we would have nothin left at all.
Banker Jones told him it was too bad, but it couldent be helped; he couldent give Jobe any of the interest money back.
“Bizness is bizness,” says Banker Jones, “and I have to do bizness accordin to bizness rules.”
Jobe asked him to be merciful, and told him the Lord would bless him if he would show mercy to them a needin mercy.
“He explained to Mr. Jones.”
But Banker Jones said he was purty comfortable as it was, and when he needed any favors from the Lord he ginerally paid “spot cash” for em; in fact he had several blessins paid for in advance.
Then he told Jobe if he had any other bizness to attend to he had better go and attend to it, as he was bizzy.
Poor Jobe! He jist got out and come home. He says he dont recollect how he got home, he felt so dazed and queer. He has been droopin around all day. He looks distrest; and, poor man, I know he is. The Lord only knows what will become of us—I dont.