His expression changed. He knocked the ashes from his cigar and frowned.
“I see,” he sneered. “Humph! Well, I've tried to make it plain to you fellows down here that I couldn't be held up. I thought I'd done it, but evidently I haven't. Five hundred is a good price for that land. Five thousand is ridiculous, but I gave you my reasons for being willing to be robbed that much. That, however, is the limit. I'll give you five thousand, but not another cent. You can take it or get out.”
This was better. When he talked like that I could answer him and enjoy it.
“I'll get out very shortly,” I said. “You are no more anxious to have that happen than I am. I don't want your other cent. I don't want your five thousand dollars. I'll sell you the land on one condition—no, on two. The first is that you pay me thirty-five hundred dollars for it.”
“WHAT?”
I had upset his composure this time. He forgot to sneer; he even forgot to smoke.
“What?” he cried again. “Thirty-five hundred! Why, I offered you—”
“I know your offer. This is mine: I will sell you the land for thirty-five hundred, and not another cent. That, as you say, is the limit. You can take it or—or I will follow your suggestion and get out.”
We looked at each other. His fingers moved toward the match box on the table. He took a match, scratched it, and held it to the end of his cigar. Then he took the cigar from his lips, blew out the match and tossed the latter into the fireplace.
“What is the second condition?” he asked, abruptly.