"I do not," replied my uncle, "and therefore I think that you will sign."
The obese old man spat violently on the floor, his face a horror of great folds.
"Sign!" he sputtered. "Fool, idiot, madman! Why should I sign away my lands?"
"There are many reasons," replied Abner calmly. "The property is not yours. You got it by a legal trick, the judge who heard you was bound by the technicalities of language. But you are old, Wolf, and the next Judge will go behind the record. He will be hard to face. He has expressed Himself on these affairs. 'If the widow and the orphan cry to me, I will surely hear their cry.' Sinister words, Wolf, for one who comes with a case like yours into the court of Final Equity."
"Abner," cried the old man, "begone with your little sermons!"
My uncle's big fingers tightened on the back of the chair.
"Then, Wolf," he said, "if this thing does not move you, let me urge the esteem of men and this child's sorrow, and our high regard."
The old man's jaw chattered and he snapped his fingers.
"I would not give that for the things you name," he cried, and he set off a tiny measure on his index-finger with the thumb.
"Why, sir, my whim, idle and ridiculous, is a greater power to move me than this drivel."
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