“Ros, I ain't got any authority to do it, but I shouldn't wonder if I could get you three hundred dollars for that strip.”
“It isn't a question of price.”
“Rubbish! Anything's a question of price.”
“This isn't. If it was I probably should have accepted Mr. Colton's offer of six hundred and fifty.”
“Six hun—! Do you mean to say he offered you six hundred and fifty dollars for that little mite of land, and you never took him up?”
“Yes.”
“Well, you must be a . . . Humph! Six hundred and fifty! The town can't meet no such bid as that, of course.”
“I don't expect it to.”
He regarded me in silence. He was chagrined and angry; his florid face was redder than ever; but, more than all, he was puzzled.
“Well,” he observed, after a moment, “this beats me, this does! Last time we talked you was willin' to consider sellin'. What's changed you? What's the reason you won't sell? What business reason have you got for not doin' it?”