Floyd pointed to a stack of account-books on the desk and smiled. “The old man got these in an awful mess,” he said. “But I am getting them straight at last.”
“How's business?” Pole asked.
“In the store, pretty good,” Floyd answered; “but as for my own part, I'm busy on the outside. I closed a nice deal yesterday, Pole. You remember the offer I made Price for his plantation, furnished house, and everything else on the place?”
“You bet.”
“Well, he came to my terms. The property is mine at last, Pole.”
“Gee whiz! what a purty investment! It's a little fortune, my boy.”
“Yes, it's the sort of thing I've wanted for a long time,” Floyd returned. “Most men have their hobbies, and mine has always been to possess a model farm that I could keep up to the highest notch of perfection for my own pleasure and as an inspiration to my neighbors.”
“Bully, bully place, Nelson! You'll always be proud of it.”
“There's only one drawback,” said Floyd; “you see, it will never suit me to live there myself, and so I've got to get a sharp manager that I can trust.”
“Ah yes, you bet you have!” Pole declared.