"Yes, I did. The fact is, Dickerson remembered me, and made me go to dinner with him; but I'm ready to eat again."
As they were rising from the table a few minutes later, King said, in a rather constrained tone, "I've got something to say to you all, and I may as well do it now."
With much clatter they dragged their chairs after him to the front room and sat down with awkward ceremony—the sort of dignified quiet that usually governed them during the visit of some strolling preacher or benighted peddler. They stared with ever-increasing wonder as he placed his own chair in front of them. Old Mark seemed embarrassed by the formality of the proceedings, and endeavored to relieve himself by assuming indifference. He coughed conspicuously and hitched his chair back till it leaned against the door-jamb.
There was a queer, boyish tremor in Luke King's voice when he began to speak, and it vibrated there till he had finished.
"Since I went away from you," he began, his eyes on the floor, "I have studied hard and closely applied myself to a profession, and, though I've wandered about a good deal, I've made it pay pretty well. I'm not rich, now, but I'm worth more than you think I am. In big cities the sort of talent I happen to have brings a sort of market-price, and I have profited by my calling. You have never had any luck, and you have worked hard and deserve more than has fallen to your lot. You'd never be able to make anything on this poor land, even if you could buy your supplies as low as those who pay cash, but you have not had the ready money at any time, and the merchants have swindled you on every deal you've made with them. The Dickerson plantation is the sort of place you really need. It is worth double the price he asked for it. I happened to have the money to spare, and I bought it to-day while I was over there."
There was a profound silence in the room. The occupants of the row of chairs stared at him with widening eyes, mute and motionless. A sudden breeze came in at the door and turned the oblong flame of the candle on the mantel towards the wall, and caused black ropes of smoke from the pine-knots in the chimney to curl out into the room like pyrotechnic snakes. Mrs. Bruce bent forward and peered into King's motionless face and smiled and slyly winked, then she glanced at the serious faces of the others, and broke into a childish laugh of genuine merriment.
"La me! ef you-uns ain't settin' thar with mouths open like bull-frogs swallowin' down ever'thing that boy says, as ef it was so much law an' gospel."
But none of them entered her mood; indeed, they gave her not so much as a glance. Without replying to her, King rose and took the candle from the mantel-piece. He stood it on the table and laid a folded document beside it. "There's the deed," he said. "It's made out to mother as long as she lives, and to fall eventually to her step-daughters and step-son, Jake."
He left the paper on the table and went back to his chair. An awkward silence ensued. It was broken by old Mark. He coughed and threw his tobacco-quid out at the door, and, smiling to hide his half-sceptical agitation, he moved to the table. His gaunt back was to them, and his grizzled face went out of view when he bent to hold the paper in the light.
"By Jacks, that's what it is!" he blurted out. "There's no shenanigan about it. The Dickerson place is Mariar Habersham Bruce's, ef I kin read writin'."