Mr. Smith shook his head, and his smile died. “This is probably comic opera, yet—you’re your mother’s only son, and there might be a bit of a scrimmage. Besides I have other work for you.”
“All right.”
Mr. Smith smiled, for Billy’s tone was not hearty. “The Tum-wah people’s second injunction is out; but I can take care of that well enough, if I can beat daylight on another proposition.” He rose and took a turn or two around the room, one hand in his pocket, the other pulling roughly at his mustache. “Do you know what our real trouble is?”
“The city won’t let you have the right of way over the boulevard? Is that it?”
“Yes. Do you know why?”
Billy looked up shrewdly. “You won’t pay the price?”
“Right, the first guess. Alvin Short wants to cinch us. And the worst of it is, if he gets what he asks, he’ll bleed us every time we cross a street or cut an alley. Now your job is this: to watch this property while the Smith family go on an excursion.”
Billy could not help showing his surprise. Usually the force of servants was trusted to do that.
Mr. Smith laughed and nodded through the window to where thick green woods swept an impenetrable curtain past the singing falls, past the private grounds, and down the hill. “The boulevard lies through there. It won’t be built for two years, yet I may not go over it nor under nor across it till they get their price. Billy, there’s—how many points of law in possession?”
Billy smiled but was discreetly silent.