“They couldn't do half as well with it,” the Boston man said. “In fact, no one could, as I told you, pay as much for the property as we can, considering the railroad we have to move somewhere, and our gigantic facilities for handling lumber in America and abroad. Still I think, and our directors think, a hundred thousand is a big price.”
Miller laughed as if amused. “That's five dollars an acre, you know, but I'm not here to boom Mr. Bishop's timber-land. In fact, all this has grown out of my going down to Atlanta to borrow twenty-five thousand dollars on the property. I think I would have saved time if I hadn't run on you down there, Mr. Wilson.”
Wilson frowned and looked at his cigar.
“We are willing,” said he, “to make the loan at five per cent, per annum on two conditions.”
“Well, out with them,” laughed Miller. “What are they?”
“First,” said Wilson, slowly and methodically, “we want the refusal of the property at one hundred thousand dollars.”
A thrill of triumph passed over the silent group. Alan saw his father's face fill with sudden hope, and then it seemed to stand in abeyance as if doubt had already mastered it. Abner Daniel caught his beard in his stiff fingers and slowly slid them downward. Mrs. Bishop's bonnet hid her face, but her fingers were twitching excitedly as they toyed with the fringe of her shawl.
Miller's indifference was surprising. “For what length of time do you want the refusal of the property at that figure?” he asked, almost in a tone of contempt.
Wilson hung fire, his brow wrinkled thoughtfully.
“Till it is decided positively,” he got out finally, “whether we can get a charter and a right of way to the property.”