“I wish your honor would interfere for an oppressed and ill-treated family, against as great a rogue, by all accounts, as ever broke bread—I wish you would make me first sure that they'd get their farm.”
“To what purpose, I say?”
“Why, sir, for a raison I have. If your honor will make me sure that they'll get their land again, that's all I want.”'
“What is your reason? Have you capital, and are you willing to assist them?”
The pedlar shook his head. “Is it the likes o' me, your honor? No, but maybe it might be made up for them some way.”
“I believe,” said the agent, “that your intentions are good; only that they are altogether impracticable. However, a thought strikes me. Go to Dick o' the Grange, and lay your case before him. Ask a new lease for your friends, the Daltons—of course he won't give it; but at all events, come back to me, and let me know, as nearly in his own words as you can, what answer he will give you; go now, that is all that I can do for you in the matter.”
“Barrin' this, your honor, that set in case the poor heart-broken Daltons wor to get capital some way.”
“Perhaps,” said Travers, interrupting him, “you can assist them.”
“Oh, if I could!—no, but that set in case, as I said, that it was to be forthcomin', you persave. Me!—oh, the Lord that I was able!”
“Very well,” replied the other, anxious to rid himself of the pedlar, “that will do, now. You are, I perceive, one of those good-natured, speculating creatures, who are anxious to give hope and comfort to every one. The world has many like you; and it often happens, that when some good fortune does throw the means of doing good into your power, you turn out to be a poor, pitiful, miserable crew, without actual heart or feeling. Goodbye, now. I have no more time to spare—try Dick o' the Grange himself, and let me know his answer.”