“I believe so; the offer wasn’t quite formal.”
“Then wire and clinch the deal. Do it right now.”
“Ah! The municipal improvement scheme is going through?”
“Sure. I got the tip by ‘phone as I was leaving. Whatcom serves me pretty well, but there are other fellows to take a hand in the game, and the news will leak out some time this evening. We’re an hour or two ahead—that’s all. Here, write your message.”
Taking a telegram blank from his pocket, he handed it to Osborne; and then swung off his hat with ceremonious gallantry as he came suddenly upon the others through an opening in the pines. Ruth gave him a rather cold bow, for his voice carried well, and she had heard enough to disturb her. She did not expect much from Clay; but it looked as if her father were abetting him in a conspiracy to take an unfair advantage of some civic improvements. She had no justification for questioning either of them; but her aunt, who was seldom diffident, proceeded to deal with the matter boldly when Osborne joined them after dispatching the telegram.
“What’s this I hear, Henry?” Miss Dexter asked.
“I can’t say. You were not intended to hear anything,” Osborne replied with a patient air.
“Then your friend should talk lower. Have you been buying up property the city needs?”
“It’s a fairly common practice. I suppose you don’t approve of it?”
“Need you ask?” Miss Dexter bristled with Puritanical indignation. “Have you any moral right to tax the people because they want a healthier and cleaner town? Is this the example you would set your daughter?”