"I think we've got him!" Hooker overheard one of them say, as the two passed by him in the dimly-lighted room.
Yes. Worse luck. Hooker knew it was useless to make other offers. He had not the bank account to compete with the famous connoisseurs that had just left. And he knew Mr. Foster was a gentleman of the old school, and would not use one offer to secure a better one.
"Good morning, Mr. Foster."
"Why have I the honor of this visit?"
"Well, to tell the truth, I read in the Herald that you were going to move. I would like to know at what price you hold this house and lot?"
"Well, I'd sell cheap. Properties in this section are not worth what they once were. It is assessed at seventy thousand dollars. There is a mortgage on it of sixty. I'd take seventy-five for it. This section is too antiquated for residences, and business is moving uptown.
"But I want it for a residence. May I look through it?"
"Of course!"
Hooker examined all the rooms, noted the old-fashioned plumbing, and said that the whole house needed a thorough going-over.
"Well—I think I'll take it," he said at last. "Do you want the old furniture? I would sooner buy it furnished, that is, if I could buy it at a price!"