“Who are in your company?” asked the old man. His need for cash was great, but he tried to conceal his anxiety, and he was really curious to know who were behind Balcomb.
The promoter reeled off a long list of names, most of them unknown to Dameron, but Balcomb’s ready explanation imparted stability to all of them. There were half a dozen country bankers and a number of men who were or had been state officers.
“You seem to have drawn largely on the country,” remarked the old man, dryly.
“You are quite right, I did. It’s easier. There’s lots of money in these country banks that’s crying for investment. I know a lot of business houses right here in our jobbing district that go to the country for their loans. These old Mariona bankers have never got over the panic of seventy-three. Every time they make a loan they make an enemy. A man whose credit is A1 doesn’t like to have to go over his past and the history of his wife’s relations even unto the third and fourth generation every time he borrows a few thousand dollars. Not much!”
Dameron laughed, a little uneasily, but he laughed. Two years before he would have shuddered at such heresy.
“Well,” said Balcomb, rising, “you think over the matter and let me know whether you care to sell. I’ll give you one thousand dollars for an option on the creek strip at sixty thousand. I’ll see you in a few days.”
“No! No!” The old man’s voice rose querulously. Delays were dangerous. If Balcomb could do it he must effect the sale at once.
“The figure I named yesterday,” began Dameron.
“—is out of the question,” said Balcomb, with finality.
“Then nine hundred dollars apiece for the block of lots.”