"I don't intend to wait, Mr. Potts. The mortgage will be due in three months, and then the whole amount will have to be paid."
"The whole amount!" cried Caspar Potts, aghast.
"That is what I said, sir."
"Won't you renew——"
"No, I want the money; and I want that interest now."
"As I said before, I can't pay it. I've been sick all winter, and——"
"It seems to me you might wait a little, Mr. Poole," said Dave, interrupting him. "We'll pay you as soon as we can."
"Humph! Who are you, Mr. Potts' son?"
"No, sir; I work for him and live with him."
"Oh, yes, I remember now; you're the boy he took from the poorhouse. Well, I don't want any poorhouse urchin to advise me, do you understand? I am here for my money."
Dave's face flushed, and some angry words rushed to his lips, but he suppressed them.
"You—you have no right to insult the boy!" came from Caspar Potts. "He is a fine lad, even if he did come from the poorhouse."
"Insult him? Bosh! But we won't talk about that. Are you going to pay or not?"
"I cannot pay."
"Then I am going to let the law take its course."
