To Ross Sidney, Levant.—Offer accepted. Go ahead with work. Will settle with you on my return.
Z. Kingsley.
I set my jaws and told myself that the message wasn’t all falsehood; the last sentence was strictly true, even if Zebulon Kingsley did not pen it.
I folded the paper, stuck it in my pocket, and went again to the Kingsley house. It was brazen business—a dangerous hazard. But I was depending on woman’s inadequacy. I felt that I had the two of them sized pretty well. They had never presumed to meddle in the affairs of their master. They would not dare to question his will. I figured that sending him a wire asking corroboration of the message to me would seem to them like bold interference which would bring reproof from him.
I waited, respectfully standing, while they read the message, Celene looking over her mother’s shoulder.
“It’s more about the wood-lot matter,” I explained. “I think you heard your father make me a price on it. Miss Kingsley.”
“I remember distinctly, mother. Father said he would sell for two thousand dollars.”
“I know it must seem rather irregular,” I said, “but in my wire I explained that my people are in a great hurry—and I’m glad that he has been willing to meet me half-way. It means that I am to put on a crew at once and cut the wood—and, of course, it’s a safe proposition for the judge,” I went on, forcing the best smile I could. “Neither the land nor the wood can be carried away in a shawl-strap before he returns—I think he said in a week or ten days!”
They returned my smile, and for the first time Mrs. Kingsley seemed rather cordial.
“I’m glad you are taking it off his hands,” she declared. “It will be one less thing for him to worry about. He has been so troubled by his business. I’m sure that he’ll be glad to get rid of a lot more property in the same way.”