"Not a minute. I must not owe anything I cannot afford. I have approximately seven months in which to raise approximately a quarter of a million dollars. Since I am without assets, I have no credit; consequently, I must work for that money. From to-day I am Little Mike, the Hustler."
"What's your program, Mr. Farrel?" Parker inquired, with interest.
"I should be grateful for an interview with you, sir, if you can spare the time. Later, I shall ride out over the ranch and make an inventory of the stock. Tomorrow, I shall go in to El Toro, see my father's attorney, ascertain if father left a will, and, if so, whom he named as executor. If he died intestate, I shall petition for letters of administration."
"Come, Kay, dear," Mrs. Parker announced; "heavy business-man stuff! I can't bear it! Will you take a walk with us, Mr. Okada?"
"Very much pleased," the potato baron replied, and flashed his fine teeth in a fatuous grin.
Farrel smiled his thanks as the good lady moved off with her convoy. Parker indicated a chair and proffered a cigar.
"Now then, Mr. Farrel, I am quite at your service."
Miguel Farrel lighted his cigar and thoughtfully tossed the burnt match into a bed of pansies. Evidently, he was formulating his queries.
"What was the exact sum for which the mortgage on this ranch was foreclosed, Mr. Parker?"
"Two hundred and eighty-three thousand, nine hundred and forty-one dollars, and eight cents, Mr. Farrel."