"Six callers. Two good prospects and a couple that may work up into something," Hutchinson answered. "Say, the Seals are certainly handing it to the Tigers. Won in the fifth inning."
"That's good," she said absently. "Closed the Haas sale yet?"
"Oh, he's all right. Tied up solid." Hutchinson yawned. "How's your man?"
"Dated him for the land next Wednesday. He's live, but hard to handle. Taking him down in the machine."
"Machine all right?"
"Engine needs overhauling, and we've got to get a new rear tire and some tubes. Two blow-outs to-day. Time's too valuable to spend it jacking up cars in this heat. I'm all in. But I can nurse the engine along till I get back from this trip." She felt that each sentence was a load she must lift with her voice. "I'm all in," she repeated. "Guess I'll call it a day."
However, she still sat relaxed in her chair, looking out at the quaint old red-brick buildings across the street. San José, she thought whimsically, was like a sturdy old geranium plant, woody-stemmed, whose roots were thick in every foot of the Santa Clara Valley. She felt an affection for the town, for the miles of orchard around it, interlaced with trolley-lines, for the thousands of bungalows on ranches no larger than gardens. Some day she would like to handle a sub-division of acre tracts, she thought, and build a hundred bungalows herself.
She brought her thoughts back to the Haas sale, and spoke of it tentatively. It was all right, Hutchinson assured her with some annoyance. The old man was tied up solid. He'd sign the final contract as soon as he got his money, and he had written for it. What did Helen want to crab about it for?
"I don't mean to be a crab," she smiled. "But—do you know the definition of a pessimist? He's a man who's lived too long with an optimist."
Hutchinson covered his bewilderment with a laugh.