“I say, Van Cleve,” remarked Balcomb to the lawyer, “we’re going to make a big winner out of this. Some of the things I’ve put through are jolly rotten; but this flat scheme is away up and out of sight the best thing I ever tackled.”
“Those farmers are stuck on it, all right,” said Van Cleve. “You certainly know how to blow hot air.”
Van Cleve had come to town to practise law, and had fallen in with Balcomb at a boarding-house where they both lived. Balcomb had taken soundings in the shallow waters of Van Cleve’s intellect and he had decided that the young man would prove useful. Van Cleve had a retreating chin, a corn-silk mustache and pale-blue, near-sighted eyes; but he had an allowance from his father, which in some degree minimized these disadvantages. The elder Van Cleve was a banker in an Ohio River town and Balcomb was cultivating country bankers, with whom he was building up business in the sale and purchase of securities.
“There’s only one place for that flat,” remarked Balcomb, musingly. “That’s old Dameron’s place on the creek at High Street. The malaria is all drained out of there now and it’s getting more valuable every day. The extension of the park system along the creek and the building of the boulevard will give the region a whirl. It’s only a country-town idea that apartment houses must be built on the court-house square; but we’ll show them, all right.”
He opened a plat book and pointed out to Van Cleve the location of the Dameron ground.
“I suppose the old man will throw a fit when I ask him for a price on the strip. Everybody seems to be afraid of Ezra Dameron; but I’m not half as much afraid of him as I am of his daughter, who’s a pleasant rest for tired eyes, all right. Ezra’s a queer old party, with a chilly manner and an alluring smile; but I rather flatter myself that I know how to handle difficult customers.”
“I guess you can handle them if anybody can,” said Van Cleve, admiringly.
“I’ve mastered a few—just a few—of the arts of persuasion. In fact, I prefer a tough case—something that gives a little resistance. It’s more satisfactory.”
Balcomb stretched himself and yawned. He was not averse to Van Cleve’s admiration, but sunned himself in it.
“I’ll drop around and see the old man just about now. There’s nothing like keeping things going after you get started. Let me consider. I’m not sure just what shade of gloves I ought to put on for this interview. Perhaps ox-blood red would do just as well as anything.”