But Thankful refused to say a thousand. That was ridiculous, she declared. By degrees, and a hundred at a time, Solomon raised his offer to fifteen hundred. This being the sum Mrs. Barnes had considered in the first place—and having asked for the two thousand merely because of her judgment of human nature—she announced that she would think over the offer. Then came the question of time. Here Mr. Cobb was firm. Three years—two years—he would not consider. At last he announced that he would take a one-year mortgage on the Barnes property for fifteen hundred dollars; and that was all he would do.
“And I wouldn't do that for nobody else,” he declared. “You bein' my relation I don't know's it ain't my duty as a perfessin' Christian to—to help you out. I hadn't ought to afford it, but I'm willin' to go so far.”
Thankful shook her head. “I'm glad you said, 'PROFESSIN' Christian.'” she observed. “Well,” drawing a long breath, “then I suppose I've got to say yes or no. . . . And I'll say yes,” she added firmly. “And we'll call it settled.”
They parted before the hotel. She was to return to South Middleboro that afternoon. Mr. Cobb was to prepare the papers and forward them for her signature, after which, upon receipt of them duly signed, he would send her the fifteen hundred dollar check.
Solomon climbed into the buggy. “Well, good-by,” he said. “I hope you'll do fust-rate. The interest'll be paid regular, of course. I'm real pleased to meet you—er—Cousin Thankful. Be sure you sign them papers in the right place. Good-by. Oh—er—er—sometimes I'll be droppin' in to see you after you get your boardin'-house goin'. I come to East Wellmouth once in a while. Yes—yes—I'll come and see you. You can tell me more about Captain Abner, you know. I'd—I'd like to hear what he said to you about me. Good-by.”
That afternoon, once more in the depot-wagon, which had been refitted with its fourth wheel, Thankful, on her way to the Wellmouth railway station, passed her “property.” The old house, its weather-beaten shingles a cold gray in the half-light of the mist-shrouded, sinking sun, looked lonely and deserted. A chill wind came from the sea and the surf at the foot of the bluff moaned and splashed and sighed.
Thankful sighed also.
“What's the matter?” asked Winnie S.
“Oh, nothin' much. I wish I was a prophet, that's all. I'd like to be able to look ahead a year.”
Winnie S. whistled. “Judas priest!” he said. “So'd I. But if I'd see myself drivin' this everlastin' rig-out I'd wished I hadn't looked. I don't know's I'd want to see ahead as fur's that, after all.”