“I can’t move, Mr. Sturgis. I’ve got to stay in that store. Won’t you see your client and find out if we can’t make some sort of an arrangement? Say, won’t you do that, Mr. Sturgis?” He was all worked up and his voice sounded like he was going to break down and cry.
I looked down at Mark. His face had an expression I never saw on it before—sort of grim. He didn’t look like he was enjoying the misery Skip was in. That wasn’t his expression at all. But he did look like he was doing something he knew he ought to do, and was getting satisfaction out of it. I suppose maybe a general looks like that when he catches one of his officers being a traitor and orders him to be executed. Yes, that’s the sort of look it was.
“I have full authority to deal with you,” says Mr. Sturgis. “Though my client may think you deserve to be ejected, he will not object if I take less severe measures. What, if anything, would you suggest?”
“Can’t—can’t I buy the lease? Won’t he sell it to me?”
“Well, now, Mr. Skip, possibly something of that sort could be arranged. How much, for instance, would you be willing to pay for the lease?”
“Fifty dollars.”
“A-hem! Fifty dollars. Ah, you consider the lease worth fifty dollars, do you? I, on my part, believe it is worth more than that to my client. I think I do not make a misstatement when I say my client would rather keep his lease than sell it for that amount.”
“Seventy-five.”
“Mr. Skip, if it is going to mean a severe money loss to you to move, if there is no other store building in Wicksville, it seems to me your offer, considering the circumstances, is low—too low.”
“What do you want, then? How much? If it’s too high I may as well move. I’d rather lose my money moving than to give it to a man that rigged up a scheme to hold me up, anyhow.”