“Can he be a New York reporter?” thought Denin, his heart sinking.
But the caller had pulled from a pocket of his brown tweed coat a newspaper, folded in such a way as to make conspicuous a marked paragraph in the middle column. This he handed to Denin as if it had been a visiting card.
The paper was a local one, and the very first line of the paragraph mentioned Mr. Carl Pohlson Bradley as a St. Louis millionaire. It went on to state that, having retired from business with a great fortune at the early age of fifty-nine, Mr. Bradley intended to buy an estate in California, as a winter residence for his family. Having read so far, Denin supposed that he had sufficiently informed himself, and offered to give the paper back.
Bradley, however, waved it away. “Read the rest,” he advised.
Denin did so, and with a shock learned that his tall yellow visitor had become the owner of what was still known as “the old Fay place.”
“This is a surprise,” he said, not making any attempt to look pleased. “I didn’t even know the place was for sale.”
“Most places are, if the price is big enough to be tempting. When I want a thing I’m willing to pay for it. And that brings us to my call on you, sir. I hear you’re an author, and have written a story that’s sold about a million copies or some other big figure which makes a lot of folks want to come here and see what you’re like. But that isn’t what I’m here for. I don’t read stories. I’ve called on business. I want to know how much you’ll take to sell me this bit of land you’ve bought on my place?”
Denin’s nerves had been on edge for the last few weeks, and he felt an unreasonable impulse of anger against the fat, self-complacent man. “I won’t sell,” he said. “I’m sorry if you don’t like having so near a neighbor, but I was on the spot first.”
“I don’t see what that’s got to do with it,” said Bradley. “To my notion, this bit walled off from my place is a regular eyesore. The Mirador, or whatever they call it, is a rotten little den anyhow, if you’ll excuse my saying so, more fit for a child’s playhouse than a gentleman.”
“I believe it was built for a child’s playhouse,” said Denin. “But it happens to suit me, though I’ve never thought of dignifying it by the name of ‘residence.’”