Homer suggested to Ballard the advisability of purchasing a few lots in Eagle’s Addition to Waterville. “Or,” said Winthrop, “We can let you have a couple of lots adjoining your hotel. You’ve been a good friend of ours and we would let you have them cheap, awfully cheap.”
Dick Ballard sat back in his chair, inserted his thumbs in the arm-holes of his vest, and said: “Now, lookee here, Winthrop, I have been your friend, haven’t I?” Winthrop acknowledged that he had. “I’ve been your friend, Mr. Donald, haven’t I?” said Ballard, pointing his index finger straight at Donald.
“I think you have,” replied Donald, laughingly.
“Yes, I’ve been Colonel Alexander’s friend; I’ve been General Ira House’s friend; I’ve been B. Webster Legal’s friend; in fact, gentlemen, I’ve been a friend to the Waterville Town Company from start to finish.” He brought his hand clown upon the table in front of him with threat vehemence as he made this remark. “Yes sir,” he went on, “I have been a friend to you and to your enterprise, but when it comes, Homer Winthrop, to selling your uncle any Waterville town lots, why, you don’t know me. Oh, no; Dick Ballard usually knows which side his bread’s buttered on, and, between ourselves, I wouldn’t give you a square meal of victuals for any lot you’ve got in Eagle’s addition. No, sir, Mr. Winthrop, money is what I want, and pardon me for observing, money is what I, politely, but nevertheless firmly, insist that you must produce—if not to-day, perhaps tomorrow, and liquidate that little matter of board which has now been running for some three months.”
Presently he walked over toward the window and looked wistfully out over the sage brush landscape. “The grass is beginin’ to grow,” said he, “and I see it is startin’ in the streets as well as on the beautiful lots you have for sale. Remember, gentlemen,” said Ballard, as he turned and expectorated a vigorous “pit-tew” of tobacco juice toward the stove, “what I have said to you never has, nor never will, escape the lips of Dick Ballard; no, sir, I’m your friend, but don’t try to work me with any town lots in payin’ board bills.”
Winthrop was noticeably’ non-plussed. Donald was laughing contentedly and quietly’ to himself at Winthrop’s discomfiture. Ballard looked on and chuckled, as much as to say, “I am a heap sight smarter than you fellows give me credit for.” Finally he broke the silence by suddenly asking:
“Mr. Winthrop, what is your lot worth next to my hotel?”
“Five hundred dollars,” replied Winthrop, looking up.
“I hope you’ll get it,” said Ballard; “yes, I hope you’ll sell it for a thousand—but I’ll tell you somethin’,” said he, shutting one eye and looking hard at Winthrop with the other, “I wouldn’t trade you our militia company’s new snare drum for both those condemned lots; no, sir,” and he turned laughingly toward the door.
Just here he came face to face with Miss Virginia Bonifield.