Part 18 (2/2)

He saw that she was irritable, in a mood for complaint, and he rose. ”You mean Mrs. Caley talks wherever I am,” he corrected. He left the porch and walked over the road to the village. The store, he knew, would be closed; but Valentine Simmons, an indefatigable church worker, almost invariably after the service pleasantly pa.s.sed the remainder of Sunday in the contemplation and balancing of his long and satisfactory accounts and a.s.sets.

He was, as Gordon had antic.i.p.ated, in the enclosed office bent over his ledgers. The door to the store was unlocked. Simmons rose, and briefly acknowledged Gordon's presence.

”I was sorry Buckley got hurt,” the latter opened; ”it wasn't any direct fault of mine. We were having words. I don't deny but that it might have gone further with us, but some one else stepped in.”

”So I was informed. Buckley will probably live ... that is all the Stenton doctor will say; a piece of his skull has been removed. I am not prepared to discuss it right now ... painful to me.”

”Certainly. But I didn't come to discuss that. I want to talk to you about the timber--those options of Lettice's.”

”She doesn't agree to the deal?” Simmons queried sharply.

”Whatever I say is good enough for Lettice,” Gordon replied.

An expression of relief settled over the other. ”The papers will be ready this week,” he said. ”I have taken all that, and some expense, off you.

You will make a nice thing out of it.”

”I will,” Gordon a.s.sented heartily. ”And that reminds me--I saw an old acquaintance of Pompey Hollidew's in Greenstream to-day. I don't know his name; I drove him up in the stage, and Pompey greeted him like a long-lost dollar.”

A veiled, alert curiosity was plain on Simmons's smooth, pinkish countenance.

”I wonder if you know him too?--a man with a beard, a great hand for maps and cigars.”

”Well?” Valentine Simmons temporized.

”Could he have anything to do with those timber options of the old man's, with your offer for them?”

”Well?” Simmons repeated. His face was now absolutely blank; he sat turned from his ledgers, facing Gordon, without a tremor.

”It's no use, Simmons,” Gordon Makimmon admitted; ”I was out by the old mill this morning. I saw you both, heard something that was said. That railroad will do a lot for values around here, but mostly for timber.”

Instantly, and with no wasted regrets over lost opportunities, Simmons changed his tactics to meet existing conditions. ”Your wife's estate controls about three thousand acres of timber,” he p.r.o.nounced. ”What will you take for them?”

”How much do you control?” Gordon asked.

”About twenty-five hundred at present.”

Gordon paused, then, ”Lettice will take thirty dollars an acre.”

”Why!” the other protested, ”Pompey bought them for little or nothing.

You're after over two hundred per cent. increase.”

”What do you figure to get out of yours?”

”That doesn't concern us now. I've had to put this through--a tremendous thing for Greenstream, a lasting benefit--entirely by myself. I will have to guarantee a wicked profit outside; I stand alone to lose a big sum.

I'll give you ten dollars for the options.”

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