He slammed the door of the house behind him, strode to the gate, flung it open, and marched on. Simeon gazed in astonishment, then hurried to overtake him. Ranging alongside, he endeavored to reopen the conversation, but to no purpose. The depot master would not talk. They turned into Cross Street.
“Well!” exclaimed Mr. Phinney, panting from his unaccustomed hurry, “what be we, runnin' a race? Why! . . . Oh, how d'ye do, Mr. Williams, sir? Want to see me, do you?”
The magnate of East Harniss stepped forward.
“Er—Phinney,” he said, “I want a moment of your time. Morning, Berry.”
“Mornin', Williams,” observed Captain Sol brusquely. “All right, Sim. I'll wait for you farther on.”
He continued his walk. The building mover stood still. Mr. Williams frowned with lofty indignation.
“Phinney,” he said, “I've just looked over those figures of yours, your bid for moving my new house. The price is ridiculous.”
Simeon attempted a pleasantry. “Yes,” he answered, “I thought 'twas ridic'lous myself; but I needed the money, so I thought I could afford to be funny.”
The Williams frown deepened.
“I didn't mean ridiculously low,” he snapped; “I meant ridiculously high. I'd rather help out you town fellows if I can, but you can't work me for a good thing. I've written to Colt and Adams, of Boston, and accepted their offer. You had your chance and didn't see fit to take it. That's all. I'm sorry.”