"Well, I'll tell you, it's a bill, do you hear? a bill. It's for
eighty-five dollars, damage done maliciously on my private grounds,
yesterday evening. It represents the bare cost of a new copper pedestal
to replace the one you shot to pieces last night, and it's a wonder you
are not in jail for murder, for had that cannon ball struck a human
being--Enough! before I take up this outrage with the district attorney
in its criminal phase, are you going to settle the damage, or are you
not?"
"Colonel Harrington, I haven't got eighty-five dollars."
"Then get it!" snapped the Colonel.
"Nor can I get it."
"Then," observed the colonel, restoring the bit of paper to his
pocket--"go to jail!"
Bart regarded his enemy dumbly. Colonel Harrington was a power in
Pleasantville, his will and his way were paramount there.
"I am sorry," said Bart finally, in a tone of genuine distress, "but
eighty-five dollars is a sheer impossibility--in cash. If you would
listen to me--"
"But I shan't!"
"I would like to offer payment or replace the pedestal on reasonable
terms."
"It don't go!"
"And, further, I am not to blame in the matter.
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