“Your cottages will probably be of more use to the country,” said North. “I hear he made his money in leather, and his name is Pithey. Do you know him?”
“Well, he took a ‘fancy’ to my Shorthorns, and walked in last week to ask if I’d sell. Price was no object. He fancied them. Then he took a fancy to some of the furniture and offered to buy that, and finally he said if I was open to take ‘a profit on my deal’ over the farm, he was prepared to go to a fancy price for it.”
North stopped and looked at her.
“Are you making it up?” he asked.
Ruth bubbled over into an irrepressible laugh.
“When he went away he told me not to worry. Mrs. Pithey was coming to call, but she had been so busy, and now those lazy dogs of workmen couldn’t be out of the place for another month at least.”
“And my wife is worrying me to call on him,” groaned North. “Halloo, where is Larry?”
“He was there a moment ago; I saw him just before you stopped, but I never saw him jump out.”
North called in vain until he gave a peculiar whistle, which brought a plainly reluctant Larry to view.
“He doesn’t want to come with me,” said North. “Get in, Larry.” And Larry obeyed the peremptory command, while Ruth checked an impulse to suggest that she should keep him.