“I can’t go out now, madam, not now.  I haven’t time.  I have a little business to transact with this man, and then I must return to Darbyville.”

“I’m sorry—­” began the woman.

“So am I; but it cannot be helped.  Can I use this room for a while?”

By the look upon Mrs. Decker’s face it was plain to see she wanted to say, “No, you can’t,” but she hardly dared to speak the words, so she gave an icy assent and withdrew.

The merchant followed her to the door and saw that it was closed tightly behind her.  Then he strode across the room and faced John Stumpy.

“Wall, sir, now we’ll have an accounting,” he began in an authoritative voice.

“So we will, Woody,” returned John Stumpy, in no wise abashed by the other’s manner.

The merchant winced at the use of a nickname, but after an instant’s hesitation passed it over.

“What do you mean by coming to Darbyville, sir, when I have repeatedly written you to stay away?”

“Oh, come, Woody, don’t get on your high horse,” was Stumpy’s response, as he swung back in the rocker he occupied.  “You know I never could stand your high-toned ways.”

“I flatter myself I am a trifle above common people,” returned Mr. Woodward, and it was plain to see where Duncan got his arrogant manner.

“Oh, pshaw! don’t make me tired,” yawned Stumpy.  “Come, let’s to business.”

“I am at business.  Why did you come here?”

“You know well enough.  Didn’t I write to you?”

“Yes, and got my answer.  We’ve squared up accounts, sir.”

“Don’t ‘sir’ me,—­ it don’t go down,” cried Stumpy, angrily.  “We haven’t squared up, not by a jugful,—­ not till you hand over some more cash.”

“I’ve handed over enough now.”

“No, you hain’t.  Do you think I’m going to do all your work for nothing?”

“You were well paid.”

“It’s only you as thinks so; I don’t.”

“How much more do you want?”

“A thousand dollars.”

The largeness of the demand fairly took away my breath.  As for Mr.
Aaron Woodward, he was beside himself.

“A thousand dollars!” he said.  “Why, you’re crazy, sir.”

“No, I ain’t; I mean just what I say.”

“You expect me to pay you a thousand dollars?”

“Of course I do.  I wouldn’t ask it if I didn’t.”

“See here, Fer—­”

“Sh!—­ John Stumpy, if you please.”

“That’s so, I forgot.  But see here, a thousand dollars!  Why, I’ve already paid you that.”

“So you have.  Now I want another thousand and then we’ll cry quits.”

Mr. Aaron Woodward grew white with rage.  “I never heard of such an outrageous demand,” he cried.  “I’ll never pay it.”

“Oh, yes, you will,” rejoined the other, coolly.  “Aaron Woodward never yet acted rashly.”

“Suppose I refuse to pay?”

“Better not; I’m a bad man when I am aroused.”