“If we could only reach some reasonable basis of figuring now,” said the major, addressing Mr. Betts' left ear and the back of Mr. Betts' head—“say, forty thousand, now?” Mr. Betts squinted his Stone Age eyes the better to see out of the dirty window.
“Or even forty-five?” supplemented Doctor Lake, unable to hold in any longer. “Why, damn it, sir, forty-five thousand is a fabulous price to pay for this junkpile.”
“Sixty thousand—in cash!” The ultimatum seemed to issue from the rear of Mr. Betts' collar.
Major Covington glanced about him, taking toll of the expressions of his associates. On their faces sorrowful capitulation was replacing chagrin. He nodded toward them and together they nodded back sadly.
“How much did you say you wanted down?” gulped the major weakly.
“All down,” announced Mr. Betts in a tone of finality; “all in cash. Those are my terms.”
“But it isn't regular!” babbled Colonel Cope.
“It isn't regular for a man to sell something he doesn't want to sell either,” gulped Mr. Betts. “I bought for cash and I sell for cash. I never do business any other way.”
“How much time will you give us?” asked the major. The surrender was complete and unconditional.
“Until this time tomorrow,” said Mr. Betts; “then the deal is off.” Doctor Lake slid off his stool, or else he fell off. At any rate, he descended from it hurriedly. His face was very red.