"Sit ye down," said Pap. "I reckon ye've come up to ask for a loan?"
"Yes," said Ajax. "But first I wish to beg your pardon. I had no right
to speak as I did in the store this evening. I'm sorry."
Pap nodded indifferently.
"'Twas good advice," he muttered. "I ain't skeered o' much, but
diptheery gives me cold feet. I calc'late to skin out o' this and into
the mountains to-morrer. How about this yere loan?"
"It's not for us," said I.
"I don't lend no good dollars on squatters' claims," said Pap. "Let's
git to business."
We explained what we wanted. Upon the top of Pap's head the sparse
grey hairs bristled ominously. His teeth clicked; his eyes snapped. He
was furiously angry--as I had expected him to be.
"You've a nerve," he jerked out. "You boys come up here askin' me fer
a thousand dollars. What air you goin' to do?"
"We've no money," said Ajax, "but we've leisure. I dare say we may dig
graves."
"You're two crazy fools."
"We know that, Mr. Spooner."
"I'm a-goin' to tell ye something. Diptheery in this yere country is
worse'n small-pox--and I've seen both." The look of horror came again
into his face.
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