"But we might make some sort of a deal to pay him a hundred dollars or so to boot and then—"
"And then you'd have another hundred to collect, that's all. I wouldn't trust that billiard and sipio man as fur as old Ebenezer could see through his nigh-to specs. No sir-ee! Nothin' doin', as the boys say."
Next forenoon I met old Ebenezer Taylor on the sidewalk in front of the Methodist meetin'-house and, when he saw me, he stopped and commenced chucklin' and gigglin' as if he was wound up.
"He, he, he!" says he. "He, he! I hear you and that partner of yours, Zebulon, want to buy my property next door to you. Well, I'll sell it to you—at a price. He, he, he! at a price."
'Well, I'll sell it to you—at a price.'
"So your hopeful and promisin' son's been tellin' tales, has he?" says I. "I wa'n't aware that it was your property—yet."
He stopped gigglin' and glared at me, sour and bitter as a green crab-apple.
"It's goin' to be," he says. "Don't you forget that, it's goin' to be. And if you want it, you'll pay my price. You owe me for them clothes you ruined, Zeb Snow—for them and for other things. And I cal'late I've got you fellers about where I want you."
"Oh, I don't know," says I. "You may be glad enough to sell to us later on. What good is an empty buildin' on your hands? Unless of course you intend rentin' it for another billiard saloon."