His pocketbook is
just bulging out with bank bills."
"Perhaps it is the payment of his grindstones, Rufus."
"You don't tell me that a lawyer, a clever man like you, believe in his
grindstones?"
"Why not? Doesn't he make and sell them?"
"Yes; he makes them and sells them in bundles of half-a-dozen, but the
buyer of a bundle only has two to show, and they're no good, haven't
grit enough to sharpen a wooden spoon."
"How do you know all this?"
"Mostly out of big Ben Toner. He used to be a good sort of fellow, but
is going all to ruination with the drink. I saw his grindstones and what
came between 'em. It's more like a barl than anything else, but Ben kept
me off looking at it close."
"Where does Toner live?"
"Down at the river where you're going. There's a nice, quiet tavern
there, where you'll likely put up, and he'll be round it, likely, and
pretty well on by noon. He don't drink there, though, nor the
tavern-keeper don't buy no grindstones like he does. Well, here you are
on the track, and I must get back to help dad. Keep right on till you
come to the first clearing, and then ask your way.
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