“It’s a bargain,” said Mr. Minnifie, producing his notes, “count’em.” Sam counted feverishly, then made out a receipt. Nothing short of murder would have induced him to part with that money now.
“If you will meet me to-morrow at twelve at that address—a lawyer’s—we will have the conveyance put in proper form.”
“I’ve seen a bit of lawyers lately over this brass of mine,” said Minnifie, “and I don’t like’em. They eat money.”
“But in this case,” said Sam magnanimously, “I pay the lawyer’s fees.”
“Then I’ll be there,” said Minnifie.
Sam was waiting next day for the doors of his bank to open, and breathed colossal relief when his three hundred pounds were safely in to meet his cheque. He had a net profit of some twenty pounds, after settling for the conveyancing, and he had a house to sell. Not long afterwards, he sold it for one hundred and seventy-five pounds.
The fact that one of the pair had been thought desirable by somebody caused somebody else to desire the other: and Sam could only hope that the new neighbours would not compare notes. If they did, it did not matter; he had only obeyed the axiom of commerce, “Buy cheap, sell dear,” and it was not his fault that in the one case he had had to sell less dearly than in the other.
His bank credit was two hundred pounds.