The widow started forward, as if to rise from her seat.  David put his hand out gently and said, “Jest a minute, Mis’ Cullom, jest a minute, till I git through.  Part o’ that cap’tal,” he resumed, “consistin’ of a quarter an’ some odd cents, was invested in the cirkis bus’nis, an’ the rest on’t—­the cap’tal, an’ all the cash cap’tal that I started in bus’nis with—­was the ten cents your husband give me that day, an’ here,” said David, striking the papers in his left hand with the back of his right, “here is the dividends!  This here second morgidge, not bein’ on record, may jest as well go onto the fire—­it’s gettin’ low—­an’ here’s a satisfaction piece which I’m goin’ to execute now, that’ll clear the thousan’ dollar one.  Come in here, John,” he called out.

The widow stared at David for a moment speechless, but as the significance of his words dawned upon her, the blood flushed darkly in her face.  She sprang to her feet and, throwing up her arms, cried out:  “My Lord!  My Lord!  Dave!  Dave Harum!  Is it true?—­tell me it’s true!  You ain’t foolin’ me, air ye, Dave?  You wouldn’t fool a poor old woman that never done ye no harm, nor said a mean word agin ye, would ye?  Is it true? an’ is my place clear? an’ I don’t owe nobody anythin’—­I mean, no money?  Tell it agin.  Oh, tell it agin!  Oh, Dave! it’s too good to be true!  Oh!  Oh!  Oh, my! an’ here I be cryin’ like a great baby, an’, an’”—­fumbling in her pocket—­“I do believe I hain’t got no hank’chif—­Oh, thank ye,” to John; “I’ll do it up an’ send it back to-morrer.  Oh, what made ye do it, Dave?”

“Set right down an’ take it easy, Mis’ Cullom,” said David soothingly, putting his hands on her shoulders and gently pushing her back into her chair.  “Set right down an’ take it easy.—­Yes,” to John, “I acknowledge that I signed that.”

He turned to the widow, who sat wiping her eyes with John’s handkerchief.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, “It’s as true as anythin’ kin be.  I wouldn’t no more fool ye, ye know I wouldn’t, don’t ye? than I’d—­jerk a hoss,” he asseverated.  “Your place is clear now, an’ by this time to-morro’ the’ won’t be the scratch of a pen agin it.  I’ll send the satisfaction over fer record fust thing in the mornin’.”

“But, Dave,” protested the widow, “I s’pose ye know what you’re doin’—?”

“Yes,” he interposed, “I cal’late I do, putty near.  You ast me why I done it, an’ I’ll tell ye if ye want to know.  I’m payin’ off an old score, an’ gettin’ off cheap, too.  That’s what I’m doin’!  I thought I’d hinted up to it putty plain, seein’ ’t I’ve talked till my jaws ache; but I’ll sum it up to ye if you like.”

He stood with his feet aggressively wide apart, one hand in his trousers pocket, and holding in the other the “morgidge,” which he waved from time to time in emphasis.