Then it occurred to Wentworth that it would be a good speculation to purchase the property. Doubtless Lane was unaware of its value, and would sell for a trifle.
“I could agree to let him occupy it as long as he lives,” reflected Wentworth. “That won’t be long, and it may be some years before the settlement starts. I think, upon the whole, I can make my visit pay, however the other negotiation comes out.”
Now that there seemed a prospect of turning a penny, Wentworth began to find his stay in this remote place less tiresome. It was with a quick, brisk step that he walked towards Warren Lane’s humble cabin, revolving the new scheme in his mind.
“I have been taking a long walk, Lane,” he said, as he re-entered the house.
“Have you?” said the sick man languidly. “I wish I were in a condition to accompany you. I am afraid you found it lonely and uninteresting.”
“Oh, no; it is a new country to me, you know. I have never been so far West before. In fifty years from now I shouldn’t wonder if there might be a town located here.”
“In much less time than that.”
“Oh, no, I think not. This is ‘the forest primeval,’ as Longfellow calls it. It will be a great many years before a change comes over it. Probably neither you nor I will live to see it.”
“I shall not.”
“Pardon me, Warren. I forgot your malady—I am thoughtless.”