Abner Daniel: A Novel

by Will N. Harben

To those who were not following the details as closely as were Alan and Miller the reply of the latter fell discouragingly, even Abner Daniel glared in open horror of what he regarded as an unfavorable turn in the proceedings.

“That's entirely too indefinite to suit my clients,” said the lawyer. “Do you suppose, Mr. Wilson, that they want to hang their property up on a hook like that? Why, if you didn't attend to pushing your road through—well, they would simply be in your hands, the Lord only knows how long.”

“But we intend to do all we can to shove it through,” said Wilson, with a flush.

“You know that is not a business-like proposition, Mr. Wilson,” said Miller, with a bland smile. “Why, it amounts to an option without any limit at all.”

“Oh, I don't know,” said Wilson, lamely. “Mr. Bishop will be interested just as we are in getting a right of way through—in fact, it would insure us of his help. We can't buy a right of way; we can't afford it. The citizens through whose property the road runs must be persuaded to contribute the land for the purpose, and Mr. Bishop, of course, has influence up here with his neighbors.”

“Still he would be very imprudent,” said Miller, “to option his property without any limit. Now here's what we are willing to do. As long as you hold Mr. Bishop's note for twenty-five thousand dollars unpaid, you shall have the refusal of the land at one hundred thousand dollars. Now take my advice”—Miller was smiling broadly—“let it stand at that.”

Wilson reflected for a moment, and then he said: “All right; let that go. The other condition is this—and it need be only a verbal promise—that nothing be said about my company's making this loan nor our securing the refusal of the property.”

“That will suit us,” said Miller. “Mr. Bishop' doesn't care to have the public know his business. Of course, the mortgage will have to be recorded at the court-house, but that need not attract attention. I don't blame Mr. Bishop,” went on Miller, in a half-confidential tone. “These people are the worst gossips you ever saw. If you meet any of them they will tell you that Mr. Bishop has bu'sted himself wide open by buying so much timber-land, but this loan will make him as solid as the Bank of England. The people don't understand his dealings, and they are trying to take it out on him by blasting his reputation for being one of the solidest men in his county.”

“Well, that's all, I believe,” said Wilson, and Miller drew a blank sheet of legal-cap paper to him and began to write. Half an hour later the papers were signed and Miller carelessly handed Wilson's crisp pink check on a New York bank to Mr. Bishop.

“There you are, Mr. Bishop,” he said, with a smile; “you didn't want any one else to have a finger in that big pie of yours over there, but you needed money, and I 'll tell you as a friend that a hundred thousand cash down will be about as well as you can do with that land. It takes money, and lots of it, to make money, and Mr. Wilson's company can move the thing faster than you can.”