# Dave Porter at Oak Hall/Chapter 2

CHAPTER II
AN UNACCEPTED OFFER
When Dave returned home that night he was eighty-four cents richer than when he started out, directly after dinner. Ben Basswood had helped him to pick huckleberries until sundown and insisted that Dave should keep the entire proceeds.
"I like to help you, Dave," said Ben, on parting. "If you ever get in a hole let me know." He would have offered Dave some of his spending money, but felt that the lad would not accept it.
When Dave reached the cottage in which Caspar Potts and himself resided he found the old man walking up and down on the porch and wringing his hands.
"Oh, so you are back at last, Dave! I was afraid you had—had left me!"
"You know better than that, professor."
"But it is so late."
"Yes, I stayed up on the mountain longer than I intended."
"Did you get any huckleberries?"
"Over ten quarts, and sold them to Mr. Jackson for eighty-four cents."
​"That's fine!" The old man's face brightened. "I could do that work—it's not hard. But I don't see how I'm to get up the mountain," and his face fell again.
"Has anybody been here since I went away?"
"Yes; Aaron Poole's son,—a very high-toned young man. He drove up in a fancy cart to tell me that his father would be here to-morrow morning for the interest on the mortgage."
"And what did you tell him?"
"I—I told him I couldn't pay up just yet—that he must wait a little."
"And what did he say to that?"
"His nose went up into the air and he said I must pay. That if I didn't his father was going to have the place sold. He was very lordly and—and somewhat abusive."
"Abusive? What do you mean by that?"
"He—he said his father was foolish to trust his money to such a—a—crazy, good-for-nothing fellow as myself. Caspar Potts' lips quivered as he spoke. "He said I was a—a lunatic, and ought to be in an asylum."
"I wish Nat Poole would mind his own business," cried Dave. "If I ever meet him I'll give him a piece of my mind."
"I am not crazy, am I, Dave?" asked the old professor, anxiously. "Tell me truly, lad?"
"No, you are not crazy, and I don't think you ​will ever be," was the ready answer. "You've been sick, that's all."
"Sometimes I feel very weak here." Caspar Potts tapped his forehead. "But it doesn't last long."
"What you need is a good long rest, professor."
"Yes, yes; but how can I rest when these troubles——"
"These troubles will all solve themselves somehow." Dave spoke as bravely as possible, solely for the old man's benefit, and not because he saw any solution himself. "Don't let's meet them halfway."
"Very well, lad; I'll do as you say," and then Caspar Potts shuffled into the cottage, much comforted.
The conversation did not comfort Dave, and his heart was heavy within him as he hurried around, preparing a scanty supper for the old man and himself. Caspar Potts had not thought of eating, and only did so after repeated urgings by the boy.
"You've got to eat to get strong again," said Dave. "Here, let me give you some more fried potatoes and another egg."
"Eat the potatoes yourself, Dave; I'll take the egg. That's enough for me."
In the morning Dave was up at five o'clock and working around the truck garden. After breakfast, he went out to hoe corn, but kept his eye on ​the road which ran past the house, from Crumville to Dixonville. Caspar Potts came out to aid him, but soon had to give up through sheer weakness.
"I—I can't do it," he panted. "It takes all the breath out of me."
"Sit down in the shade and rest," said Dave. "I can easily hoe the corn alone."
It was approaching noon when a buggy hove into sight on the road. It was drawn by a fine-looking horse and came forward at a spanking gait. In the buggy was a portly man of fifty, with a dark face and heavy black mustache, Mr. Aaron Poole.
"Mr. Poole!" murmured Caspar Potts, "I—I wish I was stronger to-day!"
"Let me help you to the house," answered Dave, and caught him by the arm. They had barely reached the porch when Aaron Poole strode up the dooryard path and confronted them.
"Good-morning, Mr. Poole," said Caspar Potts, politely. "Will you walk in and have a chair?"
"No, I just as soon stay out here," was the brusque answer. "I suppose you know what I am here for?" went on the newcomer, with a sharp look at first the old man and then at Dave.
"Yes, I know," answered Caspar Potts, feebly.
"I believe you told my son you couldn't pay that interest money."
"Not just yet, Mr. Poole. In a short while—perhaps a few weeks—when I am well again——"
​"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." ​Aaron Poole paused. "That is, unless you want to make a deal with me."
"What kind of a deal?"
"I don't believe the property is worth a cent more than the mortgage, but to save trouble I am willing to give you a hundred dollars and take the place just as it stands."
"I think it is worth more than the mortgage," came quickly from Dave.
"Boy, you hold your tongue. I am dealing with Mr. Potts."
"Don't you take the offer, Mr. Potts."
At these words from the youth, Aaron Poole strode forward and shook his fist in Dave's face.
"I want you to be quiet!" he roared, passionately. "This is none of your business."
"But it is my business," responded the boy, with spirit. "Do you know what your son did yesterday? He came here and told Mr. Potts he was a lunatic. If Mr. Potts is that, then I am going to see to it that you don't cheat him."
"Cheat him!" Aaron Poole grew white. "Boy, if you talk like that to me, I'll—I'll wring your neck for you!"
"I've got as much right to talk that way as your son has a right to call Mr. Potts crazy and a lunatic."
"I am not going to stand here and let you insult ​me. I want you to keep still, otherwise I'll have the law on you."
"Dave, don't you think it would be best to take up with Mr. Poole's offer?" asked Caspar Potts, tremblingly.
"No, sir—at least not until you have asked some folks around Crumville what the land is worth."
"But—but——"
"Ben Basswood said there was some talk of running a trolley line from Haverfield through Crumville to Dixonville. If it went past here——"
"The boy is crazy," interrupted Aaron Poole. "The farm isn't worth a cent over what I am offering for it."
"I believe he is right, Dave."
"Then you'll take me up?" came quickly from Aaron Poole. He could scarcely suppress a smile of satisfaction.
"Don't do it," said Dave. "Wait at least until we can ask some folks in town about it. I can see Mr. Basswood to-morrow, and Mr. Jackson, and perhaps Mr. Gay, the lawyer."
"Boy, you have no right to interfere in this fashion," stormed Aaron Poole. "This is a piece of business between Mr. Potts and myself alone. Mr. Potts, you had better send the lad away. He doesn't know what he is talking about."
Caspar Potts gazed at the rich man, and then at Dave, in bewilderment.
​"I—I don't know——" he began, hesitatingly.
"If everything is fair and square there will be no harm in waiting a few days," continued Dave. "The farm isn't going to run away."
"Surely that is true, Mr. Poole."
"I've got to go away to-morrow—down to New York on business," answered Aaron Poole. "I must close up this business without delay."
"Dave, what shall it be?" questioned Caspar Potts, pleadingly.
"I say, wait," came firmly from the youth.
"Then I'll wait," said the old man, and nothing would shake him from that determination. Aaron Poole argued for half an hour, and then strode from the cottage, shaking his head, angrily.
"I'll have the law on you," he cried, shrilly. "It's pay up or take the consequences. You might have had a hundred dollars extra; now you won't get a cent!" And then he jumped into his buggy and drove off.
As soon as his visitor was gone, Caspar Potts sank back in his chair in a state of collapse.
"Oh, Dave, I trust we have done what is best!" he groaned. "Perhaps—perhaps it would have been better to have sold out to him. A hundred dollars in cash is a good deal of money to us these days!"
"I'm satisfied of one thing," returned the boy. "He wouldn't offer that money unless the place ​was worth it. Aaron Poole isn't giving away a cent. His face shows how grasping he is."
"Yes. But what shall we do next?"
"I'll go down to town after dinner and ask those men I mentioned what is best to do. I am sure Mr. Basswood will tell me the truth about the value of the land, and so will Mr. Jackson and Mr. Gay."