Uncle William cast a quick glance at the cliff—“I don’t suppose I should,” he said hastily.
“And as for values—” The man’s hand swept the horizon. “You could sell at your own price. I’m really doing you a favor, Mr. Benslow—” he leaned toward him, “if you had foresight.”
“Yes, I reckon it takes foresight,” said Uncle William. He looked at him mildly. “I might just as well tell ye, Mr. Carter—you can’t build no hotel—not up here. You can build down ’t the village, if you want to,” he added.
“In that hole—?” The man looked at him cynically. “Do you think anybody would board in that hole?”
“I shouldn’t want to myself,” admitted William, “but folks are different—some folks are different.”
The man rose to his feet. “I shall be sorry to have any ill feeling with you, Mr. Benslow. But you can’t expect me to sacrifice my plans—not unless you are willing to buy the place yourself.” He dropped a narrow eye on him for a minute.
“That’s what I was thinking,” said Uncle William cordially.
The man smiled a little. “What would you consider it worth?” he asked pleasantly.
“Well—” Uncle William considered, “I do’ ’no’ just what ’tis worth. We paid Andy two thousand for it.”
The man’s mouth looked at him for a minute, then it closed, in a little smile. “You mean you would pay that,” he suggested.