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Updated: June 20, 2025
Good harvests, or bad, the farmer was always poor, the money- lender rich. At the last, when he hadn't a farthing left, farmer went to the money-lender's house, and said, "You can't squeeze water from a stone, and as you have nothing to get by me now, you might tell me the secret of becoming rich." "My friend," returned the money-lender, piously, "riches come from Ram ask him."
Dave found himself in a decidedly unpleasant situation. The door of the room was locked and Tom Shocker stood against it. The man lit the gas, but allowed it to remain low. Dave saw Nat Poole standing close to a bed. The money-lender's son had a small bottle and some cotton in his hand. "I suppose this is a trick?" said Dave, as coolly as he could.
Where have you been?" Dave told him. "We had a dandy time, too," he added. "It must have been fine." Nat gave a sigh. "I wish I had been but what's the use? You fellows wouldn't care for me." "What were you going to say, Nat?" "I might have been there myself, if I hadn't well, if I hadn't made a big fool of myself!" burst out the money-lender's son. "Yes, that's what I did, made a fool of myself!
The money-lender's body was left lying in a pool of blood, with the clothing torn from it; and it was considered by those who found the body several hours afterward and drove away the pariah dogs and kites, that the fact of his money having been taken deprived the murder of any unusual interest.
I recognized the Countess, whose levee Gobseck had described for me, one of old Goriot's two daughters. "The Countess did not see me at first; I stayed where I was in the window bay, with my face against the pane; but I saw her give Maxime a suspicious glance as she came into the money-lender's damp, dark room. So beautiful she was, that in spite of her faults I felt sorry for her.
She dragged the money-lender's pistol from his pocket. Then Bill let go his hold and stood panting over the prostrate man. The whole thing was done in silence. No word was spoken. Lablache sucked in a deep whistling breath. His eyes rolled and he struggled into a sitting posture. He was gazing into the muzzle of Bill's pistol. "Get up!"
The money-lender's hand dropped on to the revolver lying upon the desk, and he carried the weapon with him when he went to answer the summons. His alarm was needless. His late visitor was "Poker" John. The old rancher came in sheepishly enough. There was no mistaking the meaning of his peculiar crouching gait, the leering upward glance of his bloodshot eyes.
He thought, however, that the greatest trouble would be had at the lane, and he believed he was fully prepared for it. Bob had hardly called the main portion of his men to the point which was threatened by the money-lender's party, when the wagons reached the entrance to the lane, and the occupants began to get out.
Such was Sylvia's reward for engaging in a struggle which she loathed for the salvation of Walter Hine. She was jubilantly claimed by him as his little girl in a money-lender's office. Mr. Jarvice swore aloud. "Who is she?" he asked, sternly. A faint sense of shame came over Walter Hine.
"What's the matter?" demanded Shocker, who stood close by, as he saw the money-lender's son dart out of sight behind the rocks. "Do you see that boy?" demanded Nat, pointing with his hand. "Yes." "That is Dave Porter, the fellow who put me on the freight car. And over yonder is Phil Lawrence, the other chap." "You don't say! What brings them here?"
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