Bryce found it, and his father proceeded to get the Colonel on the wire. “Pennington,” he said hoarsely, “this is John Cardigan speaking. I've decided to sell you that quarter-section that blocks your timber on Squaw Creek.”
“Indeed,” the Colonel purred. “I had an idea you were going to present it to the city for a natural park.”
“I've changed my mind. I've decided to sell at your last offer.”
“I've changed my mind, too. I've decided not to buy—at my last offer. Good-night.”
Slowly John Cardigan hung the receiver on the hook, turned and groped for his son. When he found him, the old man held him for a moment in his arms. “Lead me upstairs, son,” he murmured presently. “I'm tired. I'm going to bed.”
When Colonel Seth Pennington turned from the telephone and faced his niece, Shirley read his triumph in his face. “Old Cardigan has capitulated at last,” he cried exultingly. “We've played a waiting game and I've won; he just telephoned to say he'd accept my last offer for his Valley of the Giants, as the sentimental old fool calls that quarter-section of huge redwoods that blocks the outlet to our Squaw Creek timber.”
“But you're not going to buy it. You told him so, Uncle Seth.”
“Of course I'm not going to buy it—at my last offer. It's worth five thousand dollars in the open market, and once I offered him fifty thousand for it. Now I'll give him five.”
“I wonder why he wants to sell,” Shirley mused. “From what Bryce Cardigan told me once, his father attaches a sentimental value to that strip of woods; his wife is buried there; it's—or rather, it used to be—a sort of shrine to the old gentleman.”
“He's selling it because he's desperate. If he wasn't teetering on the verge of bankruptcy, he'd never let me outgame him,” Pennington replied gayly. “I'll say this for the old fellow: he's no bluffer. However, since I know his financial condition almost to a dollar, I do not think it would be good business to buy his Valley of the Giants now. I'll wait until he has gone bust—and save twenty-five or thirty thousand dollars.”