"Honestly," Miss Sturtevant said, in her fear that he would escape her, going so far as to lay her fingers upon his arm,—"honestly, haven't you those papers?"
"Naturally I wouldn't want to speak too positively," he returned coolly, "not knowing what you want. But I guess it's safe enough to say no.—Come, Trip."
"Wait," said Flora, retaining the hold she had taken upon Mixon's coat-sleeve. "I didn't mean to put you to trouble without paying you for it."
"Well, that's business. How much, now, should you say was a fair sum, if I had the papers, and would let you see 'em?"
"You might make your own terms," she said quickly, more and more convinced of the value of the mysterious papers. "You'd be the best judge of what it was worth."
"Well, that's generous, almost too all-fired generous. I'm sorry I can't accommodate you; but I can't. Good-night, marm."
And, followed by Trip, Mixon strode off down the rustic way, already dusky in the fast deepening twilight.