“Don’t you think, Mr. Wharton,” inquired Spurrier coolly and, his listeners thought, with a shaded note 210 of contempt, “that what I’ve already said, answers your question? If I did believe in it, wouldn’t I be likely to seek investment at the present stage of land prices?”
John Spurrier was glad that it was dark out there. He knew that the mountain men awaited his judgment as something carrying the sanction of finality and he felt like a Judas. He himself knew that back of his seeming betrayal was a determination to safeguard their rights, but the whole game of maneuvering and dissembling was as impossible to play proudly as it would have been to undertake the duties of a spy.
“I’ll admit,” observed Wharton modestly, “that if I lost some money, it wouldn’t break me—and I’m a stubborn man when I get a hunch. Well, I’m going in to watch them dance.”
He rose and went indoors and Uncle Jimmy, when he put a question acted, in effect, as spokesman for them all.
“What does ye think of thet feller, Mr. Spurrier?”
“I think,” said the opportunity hound crisply, “that he’s a fool, and Scripture says, ‘a fool and his money are soon parted.’”
“An’ ef he seeks ter buy?”
“Sell—by all means—if the price is right!”
The next day when they were alone Glory said:
“I don’t like that man Wharton. He’s got sneaky eyes.”