"What's that you say?" "I say that unless the poor little creature should die, you cannot finger the money." "And if it did die, would it be mine?" "Of course it would. By no other way can you get it, but, please Heaven, the child may grow to be a strong man and outlive you." "It's wonderful weakly," said Jonas, meditatively. "Weakly in the cradle is sturdy at the table," answered the solicitor, slightly altering a popular maxim. "It's that peevish and perverse--" "Then it takes after its father," laughed Mr. Barelegs. "You can't complain of that, Kink." The Broom-Squire took his hat and stick and rose to leave. Mr. Barelegs stayed him with a wave of the hand, and, "A word with you further, Mr. Kink. You gracefully likened me, just now, to your horse Clutch expecting his feed of oats after having served you well. Now I admit that, like Clutch, I have spent time and thought and energy in your service, and, like Clutch, I expect my feed of oats. I think we must have all clear and straight between us, and that at once. I have made out my little account with you, and here it is. You will remember that, acting on your instructions, I have advanced money in certain transactions that have broken down through the unfortunate turn in your affairs caused by the failure of the Wealden Bank. There is a matter of two hundred, and something you owe me for payments made and for services. I daresay you are a little put about now, but it will be useful to you to know all your liabilities so as to make provision for meeting them. I will not be hard on you as a client, but, of course, you do not expect me to make you a present of my money, and my professional service." Jonas took the account reluctantly, and his jaw fell. "I dare say," pursued the solicitor, "that among your neighbors you may be able to borrow sufficient. The Rocliffes, your own kinsmen, are, I fear, not very flush with money." "Ain't got any to bless themselves with," said Jonas. "But the Boxalls are numerous, and fairly flourishing. They have probably put away something, and as neighbors and friends--" "I've quarrelled with them. I can't borrow of them," growled Bideabout. "Then there are the Snellings--" "I've offended them as well." "But you have other friends." "I haven't one." "There is Simon Verstage, a warm man; he could help you in an emergency." "He's never been the same with me since I married Matabel, his adopted daughter. He had other ideas for her, I fancy, and he is short and nasty wi' me now. I can't ask him." "Have you then, really, no friends?" "Not one." "Then there must be some fault in you, Kink. A man who goes through life without making friends, and quarrels even with the horse that carries him, is not one who will leave a gap when he passes out of the world. I shall expect my money. If you see no other way of satisfying me, I must have a mortgage on your holding. I'll not press you at once--but, like Clutch, I shall want my feed of oats."