“How much capital would be needed?” asked Bobby, gravely assuming the callous, inquisitorial manner of the ideal business man.
“Well, I’ve managed to buy up twenty acres out of my savings, and there are still one hundred acres to be purchased, which will take twenty thousand dollars. But this is the small part of it. Drainage, filling and grading is to be done, streets and sidewalks ought to be put down, a gift club-house, which would serve at first as an office, would be a good thing to build, and the thing would have to be most thoroughly advertised. I’ve figured on it for years, and it would require, all told, about a two-hundred-thousand investment.”
“And what would be the return?” asked Bobby without blinking at these big figures, and proud of his attitude, which, while conservative, was still one of openness to conviction.
“Figure it out for yourself,” Mr. Applerod invited him with much enthusiasm. “We get ten building lots to the acre, turning one hundred and twenty acres into one thousand two hundred lots. Improved sites at any point surrounding this tract can not be bought for less than twenty-five dollars per front foot. Corner lots and those in the best locations would bring much more, but taking the average price at only six hundred dollars per lot, we would have, as a total return for the investment, seven hundred and twenty thousand dollars!”
“In how long?” Bobby inquired, not allowing himself to become in the slightest degree excited.
“One year,” announced the optimistic Mr. Applerod with conviction.
Mr. Johnson, his lips glued tightly together in one firm, thin, straight line across his face, was glaring steadfastly at the corner of the ceiling, permitting no expression whatever to flicker in his eyes; noting which, Bobby turned to him with a point-blank question:
“What do you think of this opportunity, Mr. Johnson?” he asked.
Mr. Johnson glared quickly at Mr. Applerod.