Then he turned to my father.
"Mr. Pendleton," he said, "I persuaded Zindorf to send for you to
draw up this deed of sale. I have no confidence in the little
practicing tricksters at the county seat. They take a fee and,
with premeditation, write a word or phrase into the contract that
leaves it open for a suit at law."
He made a courteous bow, accompanied by a dancing master's
gesture.
"I do not offend you with the offer of a fee, but I present my
gratitude for the conspicuous courtesy, and I indicate the
service to the commonwealth of legal papers in form and court
proof. May I hope, Sir, that you will not deny us the benefit of
your highly distinguished service."
My father very slowly looked about him in calm reflection.
He had ridden ten miles through the hills on this April morning,
at Zindorf's message sent the night before. The clay of the
roads was still damp and plastic from the recent rain. There
were flecks of mud on him and the splashing of the streams.
He was a big, dominating man, in the hardened strength and
experience of middle life. He had come, as he believed, upon
some service of the state.
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