“That there feller,” he said, looking from the receipt in his hand to the store door through which the form of Mr. Sleighter had just vanished, “that there feller, he's too swift fer me. He ain't got any innards to speak of; he'd steal the pants off a dog, he would.”
The application of these same galvanically vigorous methods to Mr. Gwynne's debtors produced surprising results. Mr. Sleighter made the astounding discovery that Mr. Gwynne's business instead of being bankrupt would produce not only one hundred cents on the dollar, but a slight profit as well. This discovery annoyed Mr. Sleighter. He hated to confess a mistake in business judgment, and he frankly confessed he “hated to see good money roll past him.” Hence with something of a grudge he prepared to hand over to Mr. Gwynne some twelve hundred and fifty dollars of salvage money.
“I suppose he will be selling out his farm,” said Mr. Sleighter in conversation with Mr. Martin. “What's land worth about here?”
“Oh, somewhere about a hundred.”
“A hundred dollars an acre!” exclaimed Mr. Sleighter. “Don't try to put anything over on me. Personally I admire your generous, kindly nature, but as a financial adviser you don't shine. I guess I won't bother about that farm anyway.”
Mr. Sleighter's question awakened earnest thought in Mr. Martin, and the next morning he approached Mr. Gwynne with a proposition to purchase his farm with its attached buildings. Mr. Martin made it clear that he was chiefly anxious to do a neighbourly turn.
“The house and the stable ain't worth much,” he said, “but the farm bein' handy to my property, I own up is worth more to me than to other folks, perhaps. So bein' old neighbours, I am willin' to give four thousand dollars, half cash down, for the hull business.”
“Surely that is a low figure,” said Mr. Gwynne.
“Low figure!” exclaimed Mr. Martin. “All right, I ain't pressin' it on you; but if you could get any one in this neighbourhood to offer four thousand dollars for your farm, I will give you five hundred extra. But,” he continued, “I ain't pressin' you. Don't much matter to me.”
The offer came at a psychologically critical moment, when Mr. Gwynne was desperately seeking escape from an intolerable environment.