Crenshaw sat before the flat-topped mahogany desk in the center
of the room with several well-thumbed account-books open before
him. Bladen, in riding dress, stood by the window.

"I suppose you will buy in the property when it comes up for
sale?" the latter was saying.

Mr. Crenshaw had already made it plain that General Quintard's
creditors would have lean pickings at the Barony, intimating that
he himself was the chiefest of these and the one to suffer most
grievously in pocket. Further than this, Mr. Bladen saw that the
old house was a ruin, scarcely habitable, and that the thin
acres, though they were many and a royal grant, were of the
slightest value. Crenshaw nodded his acquiescence to the
lawyer's conjecture touching the ultimate fate of the Barony.

"I reckon, sir, I'll want to protect myself, but if there are any
of his own kin who have a fancy to the place I'll put no obstacle
in their way."

"Who are the other creditors?" asked Bladen.

"There ain't none, sir; they just got tired waiting on him, and
when they began to sue and get judgment the old general would
send me word to settle with them, and their claims passed into my
hands. I was in too deep to draw out. But for the last ten
years his dealings were all with me; I furnished the supplies for
the place here. It didn't amount to much, as there was only him
and the darkies, and the account ran on from year to year."