“Leveridge? Who’s she? What did he get for it?”
“Why, the Leveridge children––grown men and women now––have just sold their farm down state; and Mr. James saw the sale announced in the papers. So he got in touch with Miss Alvina Leveridge. I believe he sent Houghton down there; and he closed a deal. Mr. James got eight dollars a share, I believe.”
“You believe! You know, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir,” meekly.
Ketchim gulped down his wrath, and continued:
“How much did the Leveridges get for their farm? And why didn’t you inform me of the sale?” he demanded, fixing the humble Rawlins with a cold eye.
“A––a––twenty-five thousand dollars, sir, I believe. And I didn’t see the notice until––”
“As usual, James saw it first! An excellent scout you are! Twenty-five thousand dollars! How many acres?”
“A hundred and eighty, I believe.”
Ketchim reflected. “James is still dickering with Miss Leveridge, I suppose?”