“He claims you owe him n-n-nearly three hunderd d-dollars.” “Does, eh? Well, I swan to man! Who’d ’a’ thought it? Well, well!” “Do you owe it?” “Fugle says so,” Silas says, “and I calc’late if he says so I do. Now I wonder how it come I never paid that?” “You never had no money,” says old-man Fugle. “Be you goin’ to pay it now?” “Ask him,” says Silas, pointing to Mark. “He knows.” “We are,” says Mark, “but we haven’t the m-m-money to-night. We weren’t expectin’ a b-bill of this size.” “I’ve come for my pay and I want it.” “You’ll have to give us a l-l-little time.” “That’s about all I been givin’ for a spell back. Can’t figger to buy no groceries with time.” “We will pay this,” says Mark, “just as s-s-soon as we kin. You won’t l-lose a cent. How much t-time will you be willing to give us?” “Fifteen minutes,” says old-man Fugle. “What’s your hurry now? A few days won’t make any difference.” “Won’t, eh? How d’you know? Guess maybe I know my own business.” “Will you give us a week?” “No.” “Give us till next Wednesday?” “No.” “Well, how much will you g-g-give us?” “I’ll give you exactly till Tuesday noon,” says old-man Fugle. “If I hain’t got the money then, why, I got a offer for this debt, cash money. A feller offers to buy it off of me.” “For how much?” “Two hunderd dollars.” “You’d lose more than seventy-two d-d-dollars.” “Better ’n losin’ the whole shebang,” says old-man Fugle. “Tuesday noon’s the best you will d-do?” “You bet you.” “All right, then. You come Tuesday n-n-noon and your money will be here. Don’t sell to Jason Barnes on any account. You read what I said in the p-p-paper?” “That’s why I come here.” “All right, then. Tuesday noon you get p-p-paid in full.” “I’ll wait,” says old-man Fugle, and out he stamped. When he was gone we looked at one another sort of quiet, and then we all looked at Silas Doolittle, who was stepping from one foot to the other like he was standing on something hot. But Mark never said a word to him. When he spoke it was mostly to himself. “Tuesday noon,” says he. “Two hunderd and seventy-two d-d-dollars and sixty-one cents!... I guess we got to git a h-h-hustle on.” Somehow I was looking at it about like Mark was. We sure did need to get a hustle on, but I was guessing that the place we would hustle would be out of that mill for good and all, and that Mr. Wiggamore would come hustling into it. It looked to me like our dam was his. CHAPTER VIII Next morning you would have thought Mark had forgotten all about old-man Fugle and his two hunderd and seventy-two dollars. He never mentioned it, but just took his reports of what we had in stock and went out. “Where you goin’?” says I. “Sell some s-s-stuff,” says he. “How?” says I. “Telephone,” says he. “No time to waste. While I’m gone you see if the railroad kin set a car in on our sidin’ right away. I want to ship a c-car to-day.” “Who to?” says I.