“Wouldn’t he, do you think he might—perhaps—sell it?” she asked eagerly.
The two men looked at one another amusedly. This was a queer, new kind of a girl. But they were dwellers near a great city and there were all kinds in a city. Their problem was to get rid of this one and go on with their work as soon as possible. The second man took the initiative:
“Lady,” he said stepping up with authority, “The boss is on his way to Europe an’ we gotta git this here building out o’ this piece of ground before we quit tonight. That’s my contract, an’ I generally manage to keep my contrac’s. That’s how I keep my reputashun—gettin’ things done when I say I will.”
Joyce drew her brows together thoughtfully:
“What are you going to do with this building?” she asked.
“Break her up an’ cart her off. Got a man cornin’ in an hour to clean her up fer the kindlin’ wood. We ain’t got no time to waste, lady.”
“Then the house is yours? To do as you please with?” Her eyes persisted, looking at the men earnestly.
“Wal, it amounts to that. Yas, it’s ourn.”
“Well, then, wouldn’t you sell it?”
“But I tell you lady, the house has gotta git off’n this here piece o’ ground before tomorra mornin’ ’r I lose my big contract on the rest o’ this job.”