“What do you say to the Widder Trafton’s house?”
“Is she goin’ to leave?”
“I think she’ll have to. Fact is, Frank, I’ve got a mortgage on the place which she can’t pay, and I’ll have to foreclose. You can have it as soon as you want it.”
“How much rent did you cal’late to ask, Mr. Jones?”
“I’d ought to have five dollars a month, but, seein’ it’s you,” said the politic landlord, “you may have it for fifty dollars a year.”
“I’ll speak to Nancy about it,” said the young fisherman. “I don’t want to turn Mrs. Trafton out, but if she’s got to go, I suppose I might as well hire the house as any one else.”
“Just so. I tell you, Frank, I’m offerin’ you a bargain.”
Just then Frank Shelton, who was looking out of the window, exclaimed in surprise:
“Why, there’s Bob Coverdale!”
“Where?”