"Who are they?" he asked, after a moment
"Can't name any names yet."
Another period of reflection. Then: "City folks or Orham folks?" inquired Mr. Winslow.
"City folks."
Some of the worried look disappeared. Jed was plainly relieved and more hopeful.
"Oh, then they won't want it," he declared. "City folks want to hire houses in the spring, not along as late in the summer as this."
"These people do. They're thinkin' of livin' here in Orham all the year round. It's a first-rate chance for you, Jed. Course, I know you don't really need the money, perhaps, but—well, to be real honest, I want these folks to stay in Orham—they're the kind of folks the town needs—and I want 'em contented. I think they would be contented in your house. You let those Davidsons from Chicago have the place that summer, but you've never let anybody so much as consider it since. What's the real reason? You've told me as much as a dozen, but I'll bet anything you've never told me the real one. 'Twas somethin' the Davidsons did you didn't like—but what?"
Jed's rocking back and forth on the box became almost energetic and his troubled expression more than ever apparent.
"Now—now, Sam," he begged, "I've told you all about that ever and ever so many times. There wasn't anything, really."
"There was, too. What was it?"