"Why didn't father help you? He ain't dead is he?"

Almost any misfortune now seemed possible to Perez.

"No, he ain't dead, but he ain't got nothin. I spose he's sold out by
this time. Sol Gleason had a mortgage on the place."

"How much was your debt, Reub?"

"Nineteen pound, seven shilling and six-pence. 'Leastways, the debt
was nine pound, and the rest was lawyers', justices' and sheriffs'
fees. I callate they'll find them figgers cut into my heart, when I'm
dead."

And then he pointed to the sums in charcoal, covering the walls of the
cell.

"I callated the interest down to how much a minute. I allers liked
cipherin, ye know, Perez, and I have a great deal of time here. Ye
see, every day, the interest is a penny and twenty-six twenty-sevenths
of a farthin. The wall round me gits that much higher and thicker
every day." He stepped closer up to the wall, and pointed to a
particular set of figures.

"Here's my weight, ye see, ten stone and a fraction," and then
observing Perez' pitiful glance at his emaciated form, he added, "I
mean when I come to jail. Dividin nineteen pound, seven and six, by
that, it makes me come to thrippence happenny a pound, 'cording to
the laws o' Massachusetts, countin bones and waste. Mutton ain't wuth