“Jim,” said Zaanan, “meet Mr. Le Bar. This here’s Mr. Ashe, Louis.”
“She’s yo’ng man,” said Louis, with a twinkle.
“Mr. Le Bar figgers he’s gittin’ on in life,” said Zaanan. “He sort of wants to git his affairs settled up on account of maybe bein’ called away sudden—”
“When le bon Dieu say,” Louis interjected, softly.
“He owns quite a piece of timber,” said Zaanan, “and figgered you might have some use for it. Hardwood.”
“Yes,” said Jim, not knowing what was expected of him. “How many acres?”
“Twenty t’ousand-odd acre,” said Louis.
“It’ll run twenty to twenty-five thousand beech, birch, and maple to the acre,” said Zaanan.
“Diversity Hardwood Company dey hoffer me twelf dollar an acre,” said Louis. “But me, I not sell to heem for twenty. I sell not at all till comes dat time w’en I’m ready. Now dat time she’s come.”
“How much are you asking?”