“Now here!” she cried, “I want you to listen to me–I’ve got tired of this everlasting waiting. I waited around for ten years on the Colonel, to settle this matter up, and now that he’s gone I’m going to settle it myself and get out of the cussed country. Maybe I don’t own the mine, but I own a good part of it–I’ve got two hundred thousand shares of stock–and I could sell it to-morrow for twenty thousand dollars, so you don’t need 17to turn up your nose. There must be something there after all these years, to bring an offer of ten cents a share; but I wouldn’t take that money if it was the last act of my life–I just hate that Honest John Holman! He cheated my husband out of everything he had–and yet he did it in such a deceitful way that the Colonel would never believe it. I’ve called him a coward a thousand times for tolerating such an outrage for an instant, and now that he’s gone I’m going to show Honest John that he can’t put it over me!”
She shook her head until her heavy black hair flew out like Medusa’s locks and then Wiley laughed provokingly.
“All right,” he said, “but you can’t rope me in on your feuds. If you want to give me an option on your stock in the company for five or ten cents a share I may take a look at your mine. But I’ll tell you one thing–you’ll sign an agreement first to leave the country and never come back. I’m a business man, working for business people, and these shotgun methods don’t go.”
“Well, I’ll do it!” exclaimed the Widow, passing by his numerous insults in a sudden mad grab at release. “Just draw up your paper and I’ll sign it in a minute–but I want ten cents a share!”
“Ten cents or ten dollars–it makes no difference to me. You can put it as high as you like–but if it’s too high, my principals won’t take it. I can’t stop to inspect it now, because I’m due up north, but I’ll tell you what I’ll do. You give me an 18option on all your stock, with a written permission to take possession, and if the other two big owners will do as much I’ll come back and consider the mine. But get this straight–the first time you butt in, this option and agreement is off!”
“What do you mean–butt in?” demanded the Widow truculently, and then she bit her lip. “Well, never mind,” she said, “just draw up your papers. I’ll show you I’m business myself.”
“Huh!” he grunted and, whipping out a fountain pen, he sat down and wrote rapidly at a table. “There,” he said tearing the leaf from his notebook and putting it into her hands, “just read that over and if you want to sign it we’ll close the deal, right here.”
The Widow took the paper and, turning it to the light, began a labored perusal.
“Memorandum of agreement,” she muttered, squinting her eyes at his handwriting, “hmm, I’ll have to go and get my glasses. ‘For and in consideration of the sum of ten dollars–to me in hand paid by M. R. Wiley,’ and so forth–oh well, I guess it’s all right, just show me where to sign.”
“No,” he said, “let me read it to you–you ought to know what you’re signing.”