Chapter XXXIV. In Difficulty

by Horatio Alger

　　We must now transfer the scene to the Walton homestead.It looks very much the same as on the day when the reader was firstintroduced to it. There is not a single article of new furniture,nor is any of the family any better dressed. Poverty reigns withundisputed sway. Mr. Walton is reading a borrowed newspaper by thelight of a candle--for it is evening--while Mrs. Walton is engagedin her never-ending task of mending old clothes, in the vain endeavorto make them look as well as new. It is so seldom that anyone ofthe family has new clothes, that the occasion is one long rememberedand dated from."It seems strange we don't hear from Harry," said Mrs. Walton,looking up from her work."When was the last letter received?" asked Mr. Walton, laying downthe paper."Over a week ago. He wrote that the professor was sick, and he wasstopping at the hotel to take care of him.""I remember. What was the name of the place?""Pentland.""Perhaps his employer is recovered, and he is going about withhim.""Perhaps so; but I should think he would write. I am afraid he issick himself. He may have caught the same fever.""It is possible; but I think Harry would let us know in some way.At any rate, it isn't best to worry ourselves about uncertainties.""I wonder if Harry's grown?" said Tom."Of course he's grown," said Mary."I wonder if he's grown as much as I have," said Tom, complacently."I don't believe you've grown a bit.""Yes, I have; if you don't believe it, see how short my pants are."Tom did, indeed, seem to be growing out of his pants, which wereundeniably too short for him."You ought to have some new pants," said his mother, sighing; "butI don't see where the money is to come from.'"Nor I," said Mr. Walton, soberly. "Somehow I don't seem to getahead at all. To-morrow my note for the cow comes due, and I haven'tbut two dollars to meet i.""How large it the note?""With six months' interest, it amounts to forty-one dollars andtwenty cents.""The cow isn't worth that. She doesn't give as much milk as theone we lost.""That's true. It was a hard bargain, but I could do no better.'"You say you won't be able to meet the payment. What will be theconsequence?""I suppose Squire Green will take back the cow.""Perhaps you can get another somewhere else, on better terms.""I am afraid my credit won't be very good. I agreed to forfeit tendollars to Squire Green, if I couldn't pay at the end of six months.""Will he insist on that condition?""I am afraid he will. He is a hard man.""Then," said Mrs. Walton, indignantly, "he won't deserve to prosper.""Worldly prosperity doesn't always go by merit. Plenty of mean menprosper."Before Mrs. Walton had time to reply, a knock was heard at thedoor."Go to the door, Tom," said his father.Tom obeyed, and shortly reappeared, followed by a small man with athin figure and wrinkled face, whose deep-set, crafty eyes peeredabout him curiously as he entered the room."Good evening, Squire Green," said Mr. Walton, politely, guessinghis errand."Good evenin', Mrs. Walton. The air's kinder frosty. I ain't soyoung as I was once, and it chills my blood.""Come up to the fire, Squire Green," said Mrs. Walton, who wantedthe old man to be comfortable, though she neither liked nor respectedhim.The old man sat down and spread his hands before the fire."Anything new stirring, Squire?" asked Hiram Walton."Nothin' that I know on. I was lookin' over my papers to-night,neighbor, and I come across that note you give for the cow. Fortydollars with interest, which makes the whole come to forty-onedollars and twenty cents. To-morrow's the day for payin'. I supposeyou'll be ready?" and the old man peered at Hiram Walton with hislittle keen eyes."Now for it," thought Hiram. "I'm sorry to say, Squire Green," heanswered, "that I can't pay the note. Times have been hard, and myfamily expenses have taken all I could earn."The squire was not much disappointed, for now he was entitled toexact the forfeit of ten dollars."The contrack provides that if you can't meet the note you shallpay ten dollars," he said. "I 'spose you can do that.""Squire Green, I haven't got but two dollars laid by.""Two dollars!" repeated the squire, frowning. "That ain't honest.You knew the note was comin' due, and you'd oughter have providedten dollars, at least.'"I've done as much as I could. I've wanted to meet the note, butI couldn't make money, and I earned all I could.""You hain't been equinomical," said the squire, testily. "Folkscan't expect to lay up money ef they spend it fast as it comes in";and he thumped on the floor with his cane."I should like to have you tell us how we can economize any morethan we have," said Mrs. Walton, with spirit. "Just look around you,and see if you think we have been extravagant in buying clothes.I am sure I have to darn and mend till I am actually ashamed.""There's other ways of wastin' money," said the squire. "If youthink we live extravagantly, come in any day to dinner, and we willconvince you to the contrary," said Mrs. Walton, warmly."Tain't none of my business, as long as you pay me what you oweme," said the squire. "All I want is my money, and I'd orter haveit.""It doesn't seem right that my husband should forfeit ten dollarsand lose the cow.""That was the contrack, Mrs. Walton. Your husband 'greed to it,and--""That doesn't make it just.""Tain't no more'n a fair price for the use of the cow six months.Ef you'll pay the ten dollars to-morrow, I'll let you have the cowsix months longer on the same contrack.""I don't see any possibility of my paying you the money, SquireGreen. I haven't got it.""Why don't you borrer somewhere?""I might as well owe you as another man, Besides, I don't knowanybody that would lend me the money.""You haven't tried, have you?""No.""Then you'd better. I thought I might as well come round and remindyou of the note as you might forget it.""Not much danger," said Hiram Walton. "I've had it on my mind eversince I gave it.""Well, I'll come round to-morrow night, and I hope you'll be ready.Good night."No very cordial good night followed Squire Green as he hobbled outof the cottage--for he was lame--not--I am sure the reader willagree with me--did he deserve any. He was a mean, miserly, graspingman, who had no regard for the feelings or comfort of anyone else;whose master passion was a selfish love of accumulating money. Hismoney did him little good, however, for he was as mean with himselfas with others, and grudged himself even the necessaries of life,because, if purchased, it must be at the expense of his hoards.The time would come when he and his money must part, but he didnot think of that.