"That's better. How much is it worth, Colonel?"
"It's good land," the old gentleman answered. "I'll give a hundred and fifty an acre, because it adjoins me."
"How much is it mortgaged for?" Brent turned to Hewlet, who seemed surprised at the question.
"Nuthin'," he doggedly answered.
"You might as well tell the truth; we're bound to know it!"
"Nuthin', I said," he looked shiftily down. "'N' I don't take no hund'ed 'n' fifty a acre, neither—from no railroad!"
"The same old hold-up," Brent murmured across the chess board.
But the Colonel, still obsessed by the old aching worry, was just then engrossed with another thought. Clearing his throat, he said—trying to do it casually:
"By the way, Tom, where is Tusk Potter?"
"I don't know, Cunnel; I ain't seen 'im for a 'coon's age."