"What?" "What?" "What?" rang out from every person on the porch.
"I'll go right over there this minute and find out for myself."
"Find out what?"
"Do tell us."
"What do you think it is?"
Mr. Clark paused on the steps as he was about to set off.
"Clay," he answered briefly. "There are capital clays in different parts of New Jersey. Don't you remember there are potteries that make beautiful things at Trenton? I shouldn't wonder a bit if that field has pretty good clay and this man wants to buy it and start a pottery there."
"Next to my house!" exclaimed Mrs. Smith disgustedly.
"Don't be afraid; if we're ever able to sell the field you're the person who will get it," promised the old gentleman's sisters in chorus. "We don't want a pottery on the street any more than you do," they added, and expressed a wish that their brother might be able to convince the persistent would-be purchaser of the utter hopelessness of his wishes.
"What do you hear from Stanley?" Mrs. Smith asked.