"Or say one thousand more," said Mr. Ranquist, eagerly.
"I reckon we won't do any tradin' t'-day," broke in Mr. Kimball. "I calalate I'll farm thet salt mine myself. I guess I kin make out t' dig 'nuff t' make it pay."
"All right, suit yourself," came from Mr. Ranquist, as if he was ready to give up. He turned to the lawyer, who handed him a paper.
"I'm sorry," said the engineer, and his lips showed a cruel smile, that indicated just the opposite feeling, "I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I'll be obliged to ask Mr. Kimball to pay off this mortgage. It is some time overdue, and has been assigned to us. I presume you have the money handy, Mr. Kimball, otherwise we shall at once begin action to foreclose, and take the farm from you. In the meantime we shall, as a matter of precaution, retain control of that part of the land known as the spring-glade."
"Wh—What?" stammered poor Mr. Kimball, for the demand of Mr. Ranquist came like a stab in the back. "Why-why, I thought—"
"Never mind what you thought," interrupted Mr. Ranquist. "The question is, have you the cash to pay off this mortgage with?" and his tone held a threat.
"N-no, sir—I can't say—wa'al, I ain't got it, 'n' thet's th'—"
"Oh, yes, he has it all right," broke in Mr. Vanter. "Here is the money!"
He threw a roll of crisp bills on the table.
"I think you'll find the amount correct," he went on, turning to Mr. Ranquist, who showed every sign of deep chagrin. "I rather guess I've beaten you at your own game," proceeded the surveyor. "I was prepared for this little move on your part. Now, if you will kindly cancel the mortgage I guess that will be about all to-day."