“What do you mean?” Wolford showed considerable alarm.

“You took twelve per cent. per annum?”

“I know I did.”

“And that is usury?”

“It is a fair interest.  Money is always worth the market price.”

“The law says that all over six per cent. is usury; and the taking of such excess vitiates the transaction.”

“Do you mean to put in that plea?”

“Yes, if you take the first step toward foreclosing your mortgage, or show yourself in my store until I send for you, which I will do when it is perfectly convenient for me to pay your fifteen thousand dollars, and not before.”

“Oh, take your time, Mr. Tompkins—­take your time—­I am in no particular hurry for the money,” said Wolford, with an altered tone and manner—­“Just when it is convenient will suit me.”

“Are you sure of that?” said the merchant, speaking with a slight sneer upon his lip.

“Oh, yes!  I thought I would need the money now, but I believe I will not.  The mortgage can remain as long as you want it.”

“I don’t want it long,” muttered Tompkins, turning toward his desk, and taking no further notice of the alarmed and discomfited usurer.

In about two weeks he had the pleasure of handing him the whole amount of the loan, and getting a release of the property.  Wolford tried to be very affable and apologetic; but he was treated according to the merchant’s estimation of his real character, and not otherwise.

“Free from your clutches, and for ever!” said Mr. Tompkins, speaking to himself, as he stepped into the street from Wolford’s dwelling, feeling lighter in heart than he had felt for a long time.  “What madness, with the means I have had in my hands, ever to have fed your avaricious maw!”

Although Mr. Tompkins could see the sky by looking upward, he was still in the forest, and had a hard journey before him, ere he gained the pleasant champaign he was seeking so eagerly.  The cash he received on selling his house was barely sufficient to clear it of all encumbrance.  He was, therefore, still hard pressed for money in his business.  The sale of his handsome furniture would help him a good deal, and he determined, resolutely, to have this done forthwith.  His wife ventured a demurrer, which he immediately overruled.  She had lost the ability to contend with him.  A sale at auction was proposed.

“Just think of the exposure,” urged his wife.

“I don’t care a fig for that.  A protested note would be a worse exposure.  I must have the money.  We can board for a couple or three years, or keep house in a plain way, until I make up some of the losses sustained by our folly.”

Mrs. Tompkins was passive.  A vendue was called, and three thousand dollars in cash realized.  This succour came just in time, for it saved the merchant’s credit, and met his pressing demands, until he could turn the paper given in part payment for his house, into money.  From that time he began to feel his business resting less heavily upon his shoulders.  Money came in about as fast as he needed it.  In a few months he began to have quite a respectable balance in bank—­a thing he had not known for years.