“Well,” confessed Nick, with no more force of reservation than had Payne when mastery was used upon him, “mother’s city property and mine, you know, contains some rather tumbledown buildings that are really good for a number of years yet, but which adverse municipal government might—might depreciate in value.”
“Just a minute,” said Bobby, and he sent for Jolter.
“Ben,” he asked, “do you know anything about Mr. Adam Winthrop’s political aspirations?”
“I understand he’s being groomed for governor,” said Jolter.
“Meet his son, Mr. Jolter—Mr. Payne Winthrop. Also Mr. Nick Allstyne. I suppose Mr. Winthrop is to run on Stone’s ticket?” continued Bobby, breaking in upon the formalities as quickly as possible.
“Certainly.”
“Payne,” said Bobby, “if your father wants to talk with me about the Bulletin he must come himself. Jolter, do you know where the Allstyne properties are?”
Jolter looked at Nick and Nick colored.
“That’s rather a blunt question, under the circumstances, Mr. Burnit,” said Jolter, “but I don’t see why it shouldn’t be answered as bluntly. It’s a row of two blocks on the most notorious street of the town, frame shacks that are likely to be the start of a holocaust, any windy night, which will sweep the entire down-town district. They should have been condemned years ago.”
“Nick,” said Bobby, “I’ll give you one month to dispose of that property, because after that length of time I’m going after it.”