At the office Leigh was waiting for him. “Mr. Champers, I am Leigh Shirley from the Cloverdale place on Grass River,” she said, looking earnestly up at him.
Darley Champers was no ladies’ man, but so far as in his coarse-grained nature lay, he was never knowingly rude to a woman, and Leigh’s manner and presence made the atmosphere of his office comfortingly different from the place he had just quitted. The white lilac bush in the yard behind the office whose blossoms sent a faint odor through the rear door, seemed to double its fragrance.
“Sit down, madam. I’m pleased to meet you. Can I be of any service to you today?” he said with bluff cordiality.
“Yes, sir. I want to buy the quarter section lying southeast of us. It was the old Cloverdale Ranch once. It belongs to Champers & Co. now, the records show, and I want to get it. It was my Uncle Jim Shirley’s first claim.”
Darley Champers stared at the girl and said nothing.
“What do you ask for it?” Leigh inquired.
Still the real estate dealer was silent.
“Isn’t it for sale? It is all weed-grown and hasn’t been cultivated for years.”
The tremor in the girl’s voice reached the best spot in Darley Champers’ trade-hardened heart.