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Mr. Anthony pushed a pencil up and down between his thumb and forefinger, and watched the process with an inscrutable face. His visitor went on:–

“I was thinking if we could agree on a price, I might deed it to you and give you a note for the balance of what I owe you. I’m getting on kind of slow, but I don’t believe but what I could pay the note after a while.”

Mr. Anthony kept his eyes on his lead pencil with a strange, whimsical smile.

“Edmonson owed me two thousand dollars,” he said, “the mortgage really cost me that; at least it was all I got on the debt.”

The visitor made a regretful sound with his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

“You don’t say so! Well, that is too bad.”

The thatch above the speaker’s eyes stood out straight as he reflected.

“You’re worse off than I thought,” he went on slowly, “but it don’t quite seem as if I ought to be held responsible for that. I had the thousand dollars, and used it, and I’d ought to pay it; but the other–it was a kind of a trade you made–I can’t see–you don’t think”–

Mr. Anthony broke into his hesitation with a short laugh.

“No, I don’t think you’re responsible for my blunders,” he said soberly. “You say property has gone down a good deal,” he went on, fixing his shrewd eyes on his listener. “A good many other things have gone down. If my money will buy more than it would when it was loaned, some people would say I shouldn’t have so much of it. Perhaps I’m not entitled to more than the place will bring. What do you think about that?” There was a quizzical note in the rich man’s voice.

Burson wiped the back of his neck with his handkerchief, dropped it into his hat, and shook the hat slowly and reflectively, keeping time with his head.

“If you’d kep’ your money by you, allowin’ that you loaned it to me,–because you the same as did,–if you’d kep’ it by you or put it in the bank and let it lay idle, you’d ‘a’ had it. It wouldn’t ‘a’ gone down any. You hadn’t ought to lose anything, that I can see,–except of course for your mistake about Edmonson. That kind of hurts me about Edmonson. I wouldn’t ‘a’ thought it of him. He always seemed a clever sort of fellow.”

“Oh, Edmonson’s all right,” said Mr. Anthony; “he went into some things too heavily, and broke up. I guess he’ll make it yet.”

Burson looked relieved. “Then he’ll straighten this up with you, after all,” he said.

Mr. Anthony whistled noiselessly. “Well, hardly. He considers it straightened.”

Burson turned his old hat slowly around between his knees.

“He’s a fair-spoken man, Edmonson; I kind of think he’ll square it up, after all,” he said hopefully. “Anyway, it doesn’t become me to throw stones till I’ve paid my own debts.”

The hair that covered the speaker’s mouth twitched a little in its effort to smile. He glanced at his companion expectantly.

“Could you come out and take a look at the place?” he asked.

Mr. Anthony slid down in his chair, and clasped his hands across his portliness.

“I believe I’ll take your valuation, Burson,” he answered slowly; “if I find there’s nothing against the property but my mortgage, and you’ll give me a deed and your note for the interest, or, say, two hundred and fifty dollars, we’ll call it square. It will take a few days to look the matter up, a week, perhaps. Suppose you come in at the end of the week. Your wife will sign the deed?” he added interrogatively.

Burson had leaned forward to get up. At the question he raised his eyes with the look that Mr. Anthony remembered to have seen years ago in small creatures he had driven into corners.

“Mother didn’t have to sign the mortgage,” he said, halting a little before each word, “the lawyer said it wasn’t necessary. I don’t know if she’ll”–