“Sell out?”
“Oh, not yet. Mabel—my daughter—seems to like it here, for some unknown reason, and wants to stay. And I don't intend to sell until I've bought—what I set out to buy. But I'm not the subject we're talking about just now. You are. Come! here's your chance to be somebody. More chance than I had, I'll tell you that. You can go to work in my office next week, if you want to. Will you?”
I laughed at the idea. I believed I had found the motive I was seeking. “Of course not,” I said. “You can't close the Lane by that kind of bribery, Mr. Colton.”
“Bribery be hanged! Come, come, Paine! Wake up, or I shall think your brains aren't up to standard, after all. When I bribe I bribe. When I ask a man to work for me there are no strings tied to the offer. Forget your picayune land for a minute. Time enough to remember that when I've got it, which will be some day or other, of course. I'm making you this offer because I want you. You're sharp; you saw through that Development game. You're clever—your sending me that 'cat' message proves it. And your not telling me where the idea for the message came from proves that you can keep your mouth shut. I could use a dozen fellows like you, if I could get them. You interested me right at the start. A chap with sand enough to tell Jim Colton to go to the devil is always interesting. I'm offering you this chance because I think it is a good chance for both of us. Yes, and because I like you, I suppose, in spite of your pig-headedness. Will you take it?”
“No, thank you,” I answered.
“Why? Because you can't leave your sick mother? She'll be all right. I was talking with the doctor—Quimby, his name is, isn't it—and he happened to mention that he was encouraged about her. Said she had been distinctly better for the last month.”
I could not believe it. Doctor Quimby had said nothing of the sort to me. It was impossible. Mother BETTER!
“That doesn't mean she is going to be well and strong again, of course,” he added, not unkindly. “But I think Quimby believes she may be well enough to—perhaps—sit up one of these days. Be wheeled about in a chair, or something of that sort . . . Why! what is the matter? You looked as if I had knocked you out. Hasn't the doctor said anything to you?”
“No,” I stammered. I WAS knocked out. I could not believe it. Mother, the bed-ridden invalid of six long years, to be well enough to sit up! to use a wheeled chair! It could not be true. It was too good to be true.
“So, you see, you could leave her all right,” went on Colton. “If it was necessary you could get a nurse down here to look after her while you were away. And you might get home every fortnight or so. Better take my offer, Paine. Come!” with a grunt of impatient amusement, “don't keep me waiting too long. I am not used to coaxing people to work for me; it is usually the other way around. This offer of mine happens to be pretty nearly a disinterested one, and,” with one of his dry smiles, “all my offers are not that kind, as you ought to know. Will you say yes now? Or do you want till to-morrow to think it over?”