"Yes," acknowledged Jarrod. "There was nothing to rent, so I had to buy a cottage or go elsewhere."
The colonel smiled.
"Plenty of places to rent," he observed.
"Wilder said not."
"He may have said so. See that cottage across the way? It's a very nice place; belongs to Grant of St. Louis; has been for rent all this spring."
"Oh. Wilder said it was rented. I tried to get it, you know."
Again the colonel smiled, and his smile was the sardonic kind that is sometimes exasperating.
"Wilder wanted to sell Lake View," he exclaimed; "but he's been holding the place for seventeen hundred and fifty, which is more than it's worth. Perhaps you whittled the price down to where it belonged."
Jarrod did not reply. He felt rather uncomfortable under the colonel's shrewd glance.
"Tamawaca's a beautiful place," said he, glancing over the wonderful scene spread out before him—a scene with few rivals in America. Framed by the foliage of the near-by trees, Tamawaca Pool lay a hundred feet below him, its silver bosom dotted here and there with sailing craft, launches, or pudgy ferry-boats speeding on their way, while the opposite shore was lined with pretty cottages nestled in shady groves.