no balancing. By his help she made out that last year his total bill at Cresswell’s store was perhaps forty dollars.
“An’ last year’s bill was bigger’n common ’cause I hurt my leg working at the gin and had to have some medicine.”
‚ÄúWhy, as far as I can see, Mr. ¬ÝSykes, you‚Äôve paid Cresswell about a thousand dollars in the last ten years. How large is your place?‚Äù
“About twenty acres.”
“And what were you to pay for it?”
“Four hundred.”
“Have you got the deed?”
“Yes’m, but I ain’t finished paying yet; de Cunnel say as how I owes him two hundred dollars still, and I can’t see it. Dat’s why I come over here to talk wid you.”
“Where is the deed?”
He handed it to her and her heart sank. It was no deed, but a complicated contract binding the tenant hand and foot to the landlord. She sighed, he watching her eagerly.
“I’se getting old,” he explained, “and I ain’t got nobody to take care of me. I can’t work as I once could, and de overseers dey drives me too hard. I wants a little home to die in.”
Miss Smith’s throat swelled. She couldn’t tell him that he would never get one at the present rate; she only said:
‚ÄúI‚Äôll‚ÅÝ‚Äîlook this up. You come again next