Leighton’s call had made Dameron uneasy. He had squandered his own property months before; and now Zelda’s estate was largely dissipated; and he faced the necessity of rendering an account of his stewardship within a few hours. Leighton undoubtedly knew something of the transactions by which the real estate held by Ezra Dameron, trustee, had been sold; and if Leighton knew, then Rodney Merriam, who was at home again, would undoubtedly know at once. He must save himself; a plan had formed in his mind by which he could hide his duplicity and put off for a year—perhaps forever—the fact that the greater part of Zelda’s property was gone. But first he must get into his own hands the option he had given Balcomb for the sale of the creek strip. The sale had hung fire unexpectedly; but he rejoiced that this property had been saved until the last; he firmly believed that he should ultimately bring back to the empty treasury the money he had thrown away; but while he waited he must study more minutely the conditions that created prices. In a short while, all would be well again; but he must retain his hold upon what remained of Zelda’s property. Capital would be necessary for his future operations. The creek strip must be saved and held for a greater price than the option carried.
Balcomb came in looking a trifle annoyed.
“I wish you wouldn’t send for me at the busiest hour of my busiest day, Mr. Dameron. I suppose you want to know about the purchase of the creek strip. Well, we’re not quite ready to close it to-day. That’s a big scheme and all our money isn’t paid in yet.”
“Then the option,—I must have back the option at once.” And the old man spoke in a peremptory tone that was in marked contrast with the mildly insistent note he had of late been using.
“Not at all, sir. That is a thirty-day option and has ten days longer to run.”
“To be sure; but the trust expires to-morrow; I had no right to bind the estate beyond my trusteeship. To-morrow is my daughter’s birthday. My administration of her affairs is ended. I must trouble you to give me the paper.”
“Not much, I won’t! We’ve been delayed for a few days; but you’ve got to carry out the deal. That was part of the consideration when we took your lots; and moreover you accepted money on the option. The trusteeship doesn’t cut any ice. Of course, your daughter is morally, if not legally, bound by your acts. I can’t stop any longer. Before the tenth of October we’ll be ready to close, and meanwhile you’ll please be good enough to remember that approval of the sale of those lots. Some of these people we’re selling to may be silly enough to have the title looked into,—and I don’t want any nonsense about it. You remember I fixed all that with my company to please you,—merely to get that option. My own hands are clean, you understand, if anything happens. Good day, Mr. Dameron.”
“But wait,—I can’t do it; I must have that option—” began Dameron, and there was a pitiful whine in his voice; but Balcomb went out and slammed the door.
J. Arthur Balcomb had enjoyed a successful year. Things were running smoothly with him; he had no doubt in the world that he could enforce his option on the creek strip of land whenever he wished. He knew Zelda Dameron, and he was quite convinced that she was not a girl to avoid obligations incurred by her father.