I was glad he said that, glad that he misunderstood me. It gave me an opportunity to express my feelings toward him—as I was feeling then.
“Don't let that trouble you,” I said, sarcastically. “There will be no 'ifs' and 'buts' so far as that is concerned. I have no desire to work for you, Mr. Colton, and I don't intend doing so. That was not the offer I meant.”
He was surprised, I am sure, but he did not express astonishment. He bent forward and looked at me more keenly than ever.
“There was only one other offer that I remember making you,” he said, slowly. “That was for that land of yours. I offered you five thousand dollars for it. Do you mean you accept that offer?”
“Not exactly.”
“Humph! Paine, we're wasting a lot of time here, it seems to me. My time is more or less valuable, and my digestion is, as I told you, pretty bad. Come! get it over. What do you mean? Are you going to sell me that land?”
“Yes.”
He puffed deliberately at his cigar. His gaze did not leave my face.
“Why?” he asked, after a moment.
“That is my own affair. I will sell you the land, but not for five thousand dollars.”