Under his big shawl Milburn rose like a tent blown upward by wind. He was getting angry as he saw his commission money taking wing and flitting out of sight. He had evidently counted on making an easy victim of Barclay. For a moment he stood twisting his heavy, home-knit gloves in his horny hands.
“Now if it's a fair question,” he said, as the last resort of a man ready and willing to trade at any reasonable cost, “what will you take, cash down, on your honor between us—me to accept or decline?”
The Colonel's pleasure was of the bubbling, overflowing kind. Every move made by Milburn was adding fuel to his hopes of the proposed railroad, and to his determination to be nobody's victim.
“Look here,” he said, “that land has been rising at such a rate since you came in that I'm actually afraid to let it go. By dinner-time it may make me rich. Dolly, I believe, on my word, Milburn has discovered gold over there. Haven't you, Milburn? Now, honor bright.”
“It will be a long time before you find gold or anything else on that land,” Milburn retorted, as he reached for his hat and heavily strode from the room.
“Well! I do declare,” and Mrs. Barclay turned to Dolly and her father. “What on earth does this mean?” The Colonel laughed out, then slapped his hand over his mouth, as he peered from the window to see if Milburn was out of hearing. “It's just this way—”
“Mind, father!” cautioned Dolly. “Do you want it to be all over town by dinner-time?”
“Dolly!” cried Mrs. Barclay, “the idea of such a thing!”
Dolly smiled and patted her mother on the cheek.
“Don't tell her, papa,” she said, with decision.