Dave Porter at Oak Hall. Stratemeyer Edward

comforted.

      The conversation did not comfort Dave, and his heart was heavy within him as he hurried around, preparing a scanty supper for the old man and himself. Caspar Potts had not thought of eating, and only did so after repeated urgings by the boy.

      "You've got to eat to get strong again," said Dave. "Here, let me give you some more fried potatoes and another egg."

      "Eat the potatoes yourself, Dave; I'll take the egg. That's enough for me."

      In the morning Dave was up at five o'clock and working around the truck garden. After breakfast, he went out to hoe corn, but kept his eye on ​the road which ran past the house, from Crumville to Dixonville. Caspar Potts came out to aid him, but soon had to give up through sheer weakness.

      "I—I can't do it," he panted. "It takes all the breath out of me."

      "Sit down in the shade and rest," said Dave. "I can easily hoe the corn alone."

      It was approaching noon when a buggy hove into sight on the road. It was drawn by a fine-looking horse and came forward at a spanking gait. In the buggy was a portly man of fifty, with a dark face and heavy black mustache, Mr. Aaron Poole.

      "Mr. Poole!" murmured Caspar Potts, "I—I wish I was stronger to-day!"

      "Let me help you to the house," answered Dave, and caught him by the arm. They had barely reached the porch when Aaron Poole strode up the dooryard path and confronted them.

      "Good-morning, Mr. Poole," said Caspar Potts, politely. "Will you walk in and have a chair?"

      "No, I just as soon stay out here," was the brusque answer. "I suppose you know what I am here for?" went on the newcomer, with a sharp look at first the old man and then at Dave.

      "Yes, I know," answered Caspar Potts, feebly.

      "I believe you told my son you couldn't pay that interest money."

      "Not just yet, Mr. Poole. In a short while—perhaps a few weeks—when I am well again——"

      ​"I don't intend to wait, Mr. Potts. The mortgage will be due in three months, and then the whole amount will have to be paid."

      "The whole amount!" cried Caspar Potts, aghast.

      "That is what I said, sir."

      "Won't you renew——"

      "No, I want the money; and I want that interest now."

      "As I said before, I can't pay it. I've been sick all winter, and——"

      "It seems to me you might wait a little, Mr. Poole," said Dave, interrupting him. "We'll pay you as soon as we can."

      "Humph! Who are you, Mr. Potts' son?"

      "No, sir; I work for him and live with him."

      "Oh, yes, I remember now; you're the boy he took from the poorhouse. Well, I don't want any poorhouse urchin to advise me, do you understand? I am here for my money."

      Dave's face flushed, and some angry words rushed to his lips, but he suppressed them.

      "You—you have no right to insult the boy!" came from Caspar Potts. "He is a fine lad, even if he did come from the poorhouse."

      "Insult him? Bosh! But we won't talk about that. Are you going to pay or not?"

      "I cannot pay."

      "Then I am going to let the law take its course." ​Aaron Poole paused. "That is, unless you want to make a deal with me."

      "What kind of a deal?"

      "I don't believe the property is worth a cent more than the mortgage, but to save trouble I am willing to give you a hundred dollars and take the place just as it stands."

      "I think it is worth more than the mortgage," came quickly from Dave.

      "Boy, you hold your tongue. I am dealing with Mr. Potts."

      "Don't you take the offer, Mr. Potts."

      At these words from the youth, Aaron Poole strode forward and shook his fist in Dave's face.

      "I want you to be quiet!" he roared, passionately. "This is none of your business."

      "But it is my business," responded the boy, with spirit. "Do you know what your son did yesterday? He came here and told Mr. Potts he was a lunatic. If Mr. Potts is that, then I am going to see to it that you don't cheat him."

      "Cheat him!" Aaron Poole grew white. "Boy, if you talk like that to me, I'll—I'll wring your neck for you!"

      "I've got as much right to talk that way as your son has a right to call Mr. Potts crazy and a lunatic."

      "I am not going to stand here and let you insult ​me. I want you to keep still, otherwise I'll have the law on you."

      "Dave, don't you think it would be best to take up with Mr. Poole's offer?" asked Caspar Potts, tremblingly.

      "No, sir—at least not until you have asked some folks around Crumville what the land is worth."

      "But—but——"

      "Ben Basswood said there was some talk of running a trolley line from Haverfield through Crumville to Dixonville. If it went past here——"

      "The boy is crazy," interrupted Aaron Poole. "The farm isn't worth a cent over what I am offering for it."

      "I believe he is right, Dave."

      "Then you'll take me up?" came quickly from Aaron Poole. He could scarcely suppress a smile of satisfaction.

      "Don't do it," said Dave. "Wait at least until we can ask some folks in town about it. I can see Mr. Basswood to-morrow, and Mr. Jackson, and perhaps Mr. Gay, the lawyer."

      "Boy, you have no right to interfere in this fashion," stormed Aaron Poole. "This is a piece of business between Mr. Potts and myself alone. Mr. Potts, you had better send the lad away. He doesn't know what he is talking about."

      Caspar Potts gazed at the rich man, and then at Dave, in bewilderment.

      ​"I—I don't know——" he began, hesitatingly.

      "If everything is fair and square there will be no harm in waiting a few days," continued Dave. "The farm isn't going to run away."

      "Surely that is true, Mr. Poole."

      "I've got to go away to-morrow—down to New York on business," answered Aaron Poole. "I must close up this business without delay."

      "Dave, what shall it be?" questioned Caspar Potts, pleadingly.

      "I say, wait," came firmly from the youth.

      "Then I'll wait," said the old man, and nothing would shake him from that determination. Aaron Poole argued for half an hour, and then strode from the cottage, shaking his head, angrily.

      "I'll have the law on you," he cried, shrilly. "It's pay up or take the consequences. You might have had a hundred dollars extra; now you won't get a cent!" And then he jumped into his buggy and drove off.

      As soon as his visitor was gone, Caspar Potts sank back in his chair in a state of collapse.

      "Oh, Dave, I trust we have done what is best!" he groaned. "Perhaps—perhaps it would have been better to have sold out to him. A hundred dollars in cash is a good deal of money to us these days!"

      "I'm satisfied of one thing," returned the boy. "He wouldn't offer that money unless the place ​was worth it. Aaron Poole isn't giving away a cent. His face shows how grasping he is."

      "Yes. But what shall we do next?"

      "I'll go down to town after dinner and ask those men I mentioned what is best to do. I am sure Mr. Basswood will tell me the truth about the value of the land, and so will Mr. Jackson and Mr. Gay."