Still more surprised was the Squire when, a few days after the six thousand pounds had been put into his hands, Tom came to him and said: “With regard to Prior’s Croft, sir. You have taken my advice once in the matter: perhaps you won’t object to it a second time.”
“What is it, Bristow, what is it?” said the Squire, graciously. “I shall be glad to listen to anything you may have to say.”
“What I want you to do, sir,” said Tom, “is to have some plans at once drawn up, and have the foundations laid of a number of houses—twenty to thirty at the least—on Prior’s Croft.”
“I thought you crazy about the mortgage,” said the Squire, with a twinkle in his eye. “Are you quite sure you are not crazy now?”
“I am just as sane now as I was then.”
“But to build houses on Prior’s Croft! Why, nobody would ever live in them. The place is altogether out of the way.”
“That has nothing whatever to do with the question. If you will only take my advice, sir, you will get the foundations down without an hour’s unnecessary delay.”
“And where should I be at the end of a month, when the contractor came to me for the first instalment of his money?”
“All that can be arranged for without difficulty. Your credit is sound in the market, and that is the one thing indispensable.”
“But what is to be the ultimate result of all these mysterious proceedings?”