Mr. Anthony pushed a pencil up and down between his thumb and forefinger, and watched the process with an inscrutable face. His visitor went on:—
"I was thinking if we could agree on a price, I might deed it to you and give you a note for the balance of what I owe you. I'm getting on kind of slow, but I don't believe but what I could pay the note after a while."
Mr. Anthony kept his eyes on his lead pencil with a strange, whimsical smile.
"Edmonson owed me two thousand dollars," he said, "the mortgage really cost me that; at least it was all I got on the debt."
The visitor made a regretful sound with his tongue against the roof of his mouth.
"You don't say so! Well, that is too bad."
The thatch above the speaker's eyes stood out straight as he reflected.
"You're worse off than I thought," he went on slowly, "but it don't quite seem as if I ought to be held responsible for that. I had the thousand dollars, and used it, and I'd ought to pay it; but the other—it was a kind of a trade you made—I can't see—you don't think"—
Mr. Anthony broke into his hesitation with a short laugh.
"No, I don't think you're responsible for my blunders," he said soberly. "You say property has gone down a good deal," he went on, fixing his shrewd eyes on his listener. "A good many other things have gone down. If my money will buy more than it would when it was loaned, some people would say I shouldn't have so much of it. Perhaps I'm not entitled to more than the place will bring. What do you think about that?" There was a quizzical note in the rich man's voice.