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Updated: June 25, 2025
"And ten thousand dollars will tide you over the trouble, do you think?" Garton asked. "I am sure of it." "And what about your son? Will any of it go to him?" "Not a cent. I am done with him as far as money matters are concerned. He must look out for himself after this. I have been taught a severe lesson." "And suppose I do not get the money for you, what then?" "I am ruined."
"Starving as usual," Mrs. Garton smilingly replied. "Didn't you have your dinner?" "Why, yes, but it's nearly eleven now, and you promised to be home at ten." When the cocoa had been made and brought into the study, Mrs. Garton looked quizzically at Douglas. "If I met you on the street I would not recognise you," she remarked.
Garton took them from a drawer and passed them across the table. "I will look over them on the job to-morrow. And I want to know how long you think it will take to get that dam built when once we get to work on it?" "I don't see how it can be done and done right," Garton answered, promptly, "in much less than thirty days.
You want me to back down and say I have been in the fault. But you've got the wrong bull by the horns this time." "Am I to understand, then, that you will not need the ten thousand dollars from me?" Garton asked. "No, not under your conditions. You want me to apologise to him," and he nodded toward Douglas. "If I do, you'll let me have the money. Is that it?"
Conniston instantly saw the need of haste, the urgent necessity of acting speedily upon the advice tendered by Tommy Garton in his note. "Arrest you!" Argyl had cried, indignantly. "Arrest you for being a man and doing your duty!" "No, Argyl," he told her, a bit anxiously.
"Let's go to the kitchen," said Garton, "and see some more of her." The kitchen was a white-washed room with rafters, to which were attached smoked hams; there were flower-pots on the window-sill, and guns hanging on nails, queer mugs, china and pewter, and portraits of Queen Victoria.
It was after nine o'clock, and Conniston was lying on his cot in the little rear room of the office-building listening to Tommy Garton talk about reclamation it seemed the only thing in the world he cared to talk about during working-hours or after when the outside door was flung open and a man's heavy tread came through the office and to their sleeping-room. "That'll be Truxton," Garton said.
Here was a chance, perhaps, to get even for his harsh treatment at Simon Stubbles' hands. "That is the trouble which has been perplexing me all day," Garton replied. "Before you came I had about made up my mind to do so. I did not know anything about that reckless son of his then. Neither had I any idea that he is such a tyrant at Rixton, nor how he has treated the clergymen who have been there.
It was quite evident that the Squire was feeling keenly his humiliation, but there was nothing else for him to do, as he had a great fear and respect for the lawyer standing before him. "I am glad you are acting like a sensible man," Garton told him. "It will save you a great deal of trouble. I must hurry away now, as it is getting late."
Both were over six feet, and thin as rails; Ashurst pale, idealistic, full of absence; Garton queer, round-the-corner, knotted, curly, like some primeval beast. Both had a literary bent; neither wore a hat. Ashurst's hair was smooth, pale, wavy, and had a way of rising on either side of his brow, as if always being flung back; Carton's was a kind of dark unfathomed mop.
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