“Who, Silas?” says Pendagrast.
And Mrs. Quinby, watchin' through the keyhole, seen that he spoke with effort.
“It's a group of capitalists in New York. All I got to do is to wire 'em, and their representative will be here on the first train to close the deal,” says Silas.
There was a silence, then Pendagrast says:
“Why didn't you let me know of your havin' this land to sell, my friend? Suppose we form a partnership, Silas. We'll close your options out at once at two an acre, and I'll personally guarantee you your commission, which I understand is ten per cent. That'll be ten thousand dollars for you.”
“No,” says Silas, “I must do better than two dollars an acre. These folks are my neighbors. I want to do the best I can by them.”
“You're wrong there, Silas,” says Pendagrast. “Business is different from most other things, and it's a good rule to think of yourself first.”
“Mebby so,” says Silas; “but it's foolish any way you look at it to sell the best coal land in the state for two an acre. And when you get your railroad built along the line of that old survey that was made twenty years ago, you'll need the gap on the Whittaker place, or you can't get your line acrost the mountains without goin' clean around,” he says.
Mrs. Quinby said Pendagrast pretty near fell off his chair, hearin' this, he was that outdone. Presently he commands himself so as he could speak, and says, sighin' deep:
“I see it's as Mr. Miller said it was, and as I feared, but hoped it was not. There ain't no railroad, and I never heard of no old survey—nor coal,” he says. “My poor friend, I would gladly have stood between you and your neighbors, but I see now the law will have to deal with you, and the sooner the better, so these poor folks can sell their land and get their money.”