“I’m not sore,” Trent said smiling. “You did me a good turn but I don’t have to be grateful all things considering. How much do you want?”
“I shall get back,” Weems said a little sulkily. “I only want a hundred or maybe two hundred, although five hundred would see me through till I get the money for the camp.”
“You are not going to sell that?” Trent cried. It was of all places the one he craved.
“Got to,” Weems asserted.
“Who is going to buy it?”
“A fellow from Cleveland named Rumleigh.”
“I remember him,” Trent said frowning, “he’s a hog, a fish hog. All the guides hate him. What’s he going to give you?”
“Forty thousand,” said Weems.
“Constable, grand piano and all?”
“The piano’s there,” Weems told him, “but the picture is sold. Honest, Tony, that picture surprised me. Senator Scrivener gave me ten thousand dollars for it. Just some trees, an old barn and some horses looking over a gate. What do you know about that? That helped me some.”