"Mr. Woodlas, I presume," said Gordon Mont-cure.
"The same, sir," was the answer; "to what am I indebted for this honor?"
"To be brief," replied Montcure, "I am looking for one Sidney Van Guilder. I am informed that he was to-day with you in this city. Can you tell me where I can see him?"
"Why, yes," said the old gentleman, anxiously; "I suppose he is out at the residence I to-day sold him for his grandfather. Is there anything wrong?"
"What?" cried Montcure, starting up, "You sold him a residence to-day? Curse the luck! I am too late. He is evidently into his old tricks."
"Old tricks," said the little fat man, growing pale, "what in Heaven's name is wrong with him? Speak out, man; speak out!"
"To come at once to the point," said Gordon Montcure, "Mr. Van Guilder is just a little offcolor. He is shrewd and all right in every way except for this one peculiarity. He seems to have an insane desire to purchase fine buildings and convert them into homes for his horses. He has attempted to change several houses on Fifth Avenue into palatial stables, and has only been prevented by the city authorities. In all human probability the house you have sold him will be full of stalls by morning."
"My house full of stalls!" yelled the little fat man, "my house that I have spent so much money on, and my beautiful grounds a barn-yard! Never! never! Come on, sir, come on, we must go there at once!" And Barton Woodlas waddled out of the room as fast as his short legs could carry him. Gordon Montcure followed, smiling.
Both men climbed into Montcure's carriage and hurried out to the suburban residence. The grounds were indeed magnificent, and the house a palace. As they drove in, they noticed several Italian laborers digging a trench across the lawn. Barton Woodlas tumbled out of the carriage and bolted into the house, followed by Montcure. Here they found a scene of the greatest confusion. The house was filled with grimy workmen. They were taking off the doors and shutters, and removing the stairway, and hammering in different portions of the house until the noise was like bedlam.
Sidney Van Guilder stood in the drawing-room, with his coat off, directing his workmen. His clothing was disarranged and dusty but he was apparently enthusiastic and happy. "Stop, sir! stop!" cried Barton Woodlas, waving his arms and rushing into the room. "Put these dirty workmen out of here and stop this vandalism at once! At once!"