"But I did not send you word to ride a dozen miles through the
hills on any trivial business, or out of courtesy to me. It is a
matter of some import, so I will pay ten eagles."
My father looked steadily at the man.
"I am not for hire," he said.
My father was a justice of the peace in Virginia, under the
English system, by the theory of which the most substantial men
in a county undertook to keep the peace for the welfare of the
State. Like Washington in the service of the Colonial army, he
took no pay.
The big man laughed.
"We are most of us for purchase, and all of us for hire," he
said. "I will make it twenty!"
The young man at the table now interrupted. He was elegant in
the costume of the time, in imported linen and cloth from an
English loom. His hair was thick and black; his eyebrows
straight, his body and his face rich in the blood and the
vitalities of youth. But sensuality was on him like a shadow.
The man was given over to a life of pleasure.
"Mr. Pendleton," he said, with a patronizing pedantic air, "the
commonwealth is interested to see that litigation does not arise;
and to that end, I hope you will not refuse us the benefit of
your experience.
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