“Perfectly absurd.” And Balcomb turned toward the door.
The old man rose and rested against his desk heavily. His bent figure was wholly pitiful; the claw-like fingers on which he leaned trembled so that his thin, worn body shook.
“Suppose you name a figure, Mr. Balcomb,” he said, with a pathetic attempt at jauntiness.
“I am authorized to close at twenty thousand cash; and my commission comes out of that. We’ll say fifteen hundred commission. But I am not anxious to buy at that price,—it’s quite immaterial to me. What I want is the option.”
“I have better use for the money; yes, I can use it to advantage,” said Dameron, as though he were pondering the matter gravely and seeking to justify himself.
Balcomb took a step toward him.
“In other real estate, by the terms of the trust,” he said, smiling in an insinuating way.
“Yes; yes, of course,” said Dameron, hastily.
“And there’s the order of court.”
“To be sure,—there’s an order of court required by the terms of the trust. I suppose you wouldn’t mind waiting a little for that. The trust expires in a few weeks,—I prefer to go to the judge with the whole settlement at once.”