“So I hear,” returned the young farmer.
“Before old Mr. Atterson died we got to talking one day when he was in town about his selling.”
“Well?” returned Hiram. “You didn't say anything about that when you offered twelve hundred for this place.”
“Well,” said the man, stubbornly, “that was a good offer.”
Hiram turned to Mrs. Atterson. “Do you want to sell for that price?”
“No, I don't, Hi,” she said.
“Then that settles it, doesn't it? Mrs. Atterson is the owner, and she knows her own mind.”
“I made Uncle Jeptha a better offer,” said Mr. Pepper, “and I'll make Mrs. Atterson the same—sixteen hundred dollars. It's a run-down farm, of course——”
“If Mrs. Atterson doesn't want to sell,” interrupted Hiram, but here his employer intervened.
“There's something more, Hi,” she said, her face working “strangely. Tell him, you Pepper!”