“Exactly.”
“I thought of that many times,” she remarked quietly, as if she were trying to hold back some pent-up emotion, “but the best figures I could make showed income always less than out-go. And I could not dismiss the negroes, not ... not after ... not after I had seen what we....”
She could not put it into words. There are some things which the spirit rebels against saying aloud.
“But the new orchard lands!” Richard broke in. “They do the trick. Everything depends upon getting use out of the labour you have.”
“Wait.” She pondered over the figures before her, seeking some sign of philanthropy.
“What does your friend Clarkson get out of it?” she asked.
“He’s a banker; don’t you see? He is protected by interest on loans. And he holds the mortgage and the title to the new lands. Oh, it’s absolutely business, every bit of it.”
So it seemed, but she was still suspicious.
“You give only $15,000 for land which almost pays for itself in one year. How can that be done?” she asked.
“You’ve struck the one flaw in the statement,” he laughed. “I’ve just put things in round figures and, of course, everything is not there. It will take several years to get the full income out of that land, but when it does come it will be greater even than the figure we give—that figure is just an average over a number of years. Oh! I know my lesson well; Mitchell Lear is a fine teacher!”