“Now, you can’t change my mind on that one jot or tittle, Squire Phin Look. You put it into any kind of lawyer lingo that will stick, and mind your own business.” The Squire completed the writing without further comment, but his face was stern and he drove his pen into the inkstand with violent thrusts. Badger during the writing informed him that he wanted him to be one of the trustees. The lawyer paused and frowned at the old man as though he were intending to refuse, then inserted the name. “And I want you to take these notes,” went on Badger, “and figger the interest up on ’em and put ’em in your safe and keep ’em.” He passed across the table a dog’s-eared bank-book with a few papers between the leaves. The Squire examined them without particular interest. There were half a dozen for small amounts. But at sight of the last he sat up straighter, studied the document with increasing attention, turned it over and over, and then stared at Badger, arching his eyebrows. “Where did you get hold of this town note?” he demanded. “I lent good money for it. I got it right from the man whose name is signed at the bottom--and he’s been town treasurer of Palermo for thirty years. I reckon you know him!” “Seven thousand dollars!” muttered the Squire. “Why, this town hasn’t----” “There ain’t nothin’ out of the way, is there, about me havin’ a town note?” Badger went on. He paused a moment, then added, “So long as you’re my lawyer and one of the trustees and I’m goin’ to die and shan’t be lendin’ the money any longer, I tell you that’s a good way to let your money out--on a town note.” For the first time since he had come into the office his face twisted into something like a smile. He leaned forward and whispered: “Says the Judge to me, ‘You keep right still about how you’ve lent this money to the town and you won’t git taxed. So long’s it’s between you and me it won’t git onto the assessors’ books.’” The Squire had the note spread before him and was studying it, his hands clutched into his thick hair, his elbows on the table. “Yess’r, the Judge says, ‘You’re a friend of mine, Sum, and so long’s you keep still you’ll git your six per cent, and not be taxed on it!’ But there ain’t no need of keepin’ still any longer. I shan’t need extra int’rest. You can collect as soon as I’m dead.” “Sum,” said the Squire, slowly lifting his eyes to the old man’s face--eyes in which there was a sort of shocked bewilderment, “I don’t want you to say anything about this note. It isn’t to be talked of.” “But I’ve told Figger-Four Avery about it,” cried Badger, looking scared. “Figger-Four Avery!” Squire Phin shouted the name. “Why, you might as well have put it into the _Seaside Oracle_. What do you want to go blurting your affairs for?”