“Like that kind of thing?”
“Better than I do this,” he replied, with a comprehensive gesture which might have been interpreted as embracing the city, the office, or themselves in particular.
“Yes?” The suavity of the tone did not disguise a shade of contempt. Bascomb swung round to his desk and drew a paper from one of the pigeon-holes.
“I’ve a proposition to make you, Ross.” He tossed his cigar away and turned to David again. “I have been elected president of a stock company, a concern interested in northern real estate. You understand about the Lost Farm tract and the N. M. & Q. Also my personal offer of twenty-five thousand for the land. Will you take it?”
“No,” replied David. “It’s worth more.”
“Well, I have to differ with you. But what I want to know is, have you any financial interest in that property, or are you simply acting as legal adviser to the present owner? In the first instance, I’m ready to make you a substantial offer in cash. In the second, I am ready to use my influence in securing an appointment for you on our advisory board. The position will carry a monthly compensation equal to that of our regular attorneys. We have splendid prospects of doing a business that will pay large and regular dividends. We are already capitalized for five hundred thousand; so you see,” he concluded, “we can handle the deal without much fear of competition from—a rival company, for instance.”
“May I ask what you intend to do with the land when you get it?” said David.
“Well, ahem! as to that—See here, Ross, I can trust you, as an old friend of the family, can’t I?”
“If you put it that way, yes,” replied David, “although I want you to know first that I’ve decided about the Lost Farm tract.”
Bascomb folded the paper he held and tapped the arm of his chair reflectively. “Well,” he said finally, “what’s your decision?”