It was then that he produced the Prospectus.
By this time, as if stirred by Violet's beauty, he had thrown off the mask of indifference; he was eager and alert.
They spent twenty minutes over that Prospectus, from which it appeared that the profit of the Estate Company, otherwise obscure, came from what the Agent called the "ramifications" of the scheme, from the miles and miles of houses they could afford to build. Whereas Ranny's profit was patent, it came in on the spot, and it would come in sooner, of course, if he could afford to purchase outright.
"For how much?"
"Two hundred and fifty."
But there Ranny put his foot down. He said with decision that it couldn't be done, an answer for which the Agent seemed prepared.
Well, then—he could give him better terms again. Could he rise to twenty-five?
Ranny deliberated and thought he could.
Well, then—only twenty-five down, and the balance weekly.
The balance? It sounded formidable, but it worked out at exactly tenpence a week less than the rent asked for (twelve and twopence instead of thirteen shillings), and in twenty years' time—and he'd be a young man still then—the house would be his, Ranny's, as surely as if he had purchased it outright for two hundred and fifty pounds.