BUSINESS.
While these things were going on at "Les Marches," a great change
had come over Frank's life.
His father was one day descending a ladder, when one of the rounds
of the latter broke and his body received a nasty jerk. He placed
his hand on his heart and muttered. "I have felt something, I have
felt something here." Two days afterwards he died from internal
hemorrhage.
So Frank was left to live with his step-mother.
He had now a little money and was considering how he should lay it
out. Finally, he decided to build one or two greenhouses. But he
wanted some land upon which to build them, and this he did not
possess.
There was a field situated behind his garden which belonged to a Mr.
Fallon. "This field would exactly suit me," he said to himself, "I
must try to buy it."
Accordingly, he set out towards "La Chaumiere"--this was the name of
Mr. Fallon's residence. When he arrived there, he saw the farmer
coming out of his stable and at once asked him if his field was for
sale. Now, Mr. Fallon thought himself too much of a business man to
answer either "Yes" or "No." "I do not think," he said, "but I can't
tell. I must mention it to my wife and think over it, for it's a
serious thing to sell one's property."
Frank nodded.
Would he call the next evening? the man asked.
Frank promised to call.
The farmer immediately told his wife about the young man's proposal.
The worthy couple decided to sell the piece of land, "but," said the
cautious husband, "we must sell it at a high price, if we can. I
wish it were sold though," he continued, "it's such an out of the
way place, and so far from here."
The next evening saw Frank sitting near the hearth of the kitchen of
"La Chaumiere." The following conversation took place.
"Well, Mr. Fallon," said Frank, "I have come to see if the field is
really for sale."
"I hardly know, one doesn't like to do away with one's property."
"You told me you would tell me this evening."
"Yes, I know, but, it's a good field."
"It may be."
"There's a stream running through it."
"I know."
"You would not have to dig a well, and a well costs a great deal of
money."
"Sometimes."
"I have a mind to keep it."
"Indeed!"
"Ah! but such good land, it's a pity to give it away."
"I don't want to have it for nothing."
"Perhaps not, but I don't think you would give me my price."
"What is it?"
"Much too cheap. Land is very dear just now, and the prices will
always go up."
"I don't know about that."
"No, but I do, people are very eager to purchase such fine little
plots. This one has all the advantages that it can have,
situation----"
"What do you mean?"
"It's situated just behind your garden; where can you have anything
better."
"The field is well situated for me, but it's not worth anything as
building land to others, it does not border the road," Frank
ventured to remark.
"It's a splendid piece of land," continued the farmer, "light, open
and yet damp soil, just the sort of thing for tomatoes, I fancy I
can see them, as big as my fist----"
"We have not done much business yet."
"I don't know if I shall sell it."
"If that's the case, when will you make up your mind; shall I call
again to-morrow?"
"I hardly know"--scratching his head--"such a fine plot, let me see;
aloud: It's worth a lot of money."
"How much would you require?"
"Oh! I don't know."
"Well, I'll call again this day week," said Frank, tiring of this
useless talk and guessing what the farmer's intentions were. He rose
and added: "I hope you will have made up your mind by then."
Quoth the farmer: "I should be very sorry for you to have had to
come here for nothing, perhaps we may yet come to terms."
"Will you sell it? 'Yes' or 'No,'" said the young man re-seating
himself.
"If you don't mind giving me my price."
"What _is_ your price?"
"Land is very dear. This piece is situated quite close to town, it
ought to fetch top price. There's two and a half vergees to that
field. I have heard that some land has been sold for eight quarters
a vergee."
"I won't give as much for this one; it's twice too much."
"I should require some money."
"How much?"
"At least one hundred pounds."
"Perhaps I might give you as much, but do state the price of the
whole."
"Six quarters a vergee."
"No."
"It would be worth that to you."
"I will give you five quarters."
"It's too low, the field would only amount to two hundred and fifty
pounds."
"Two hundred and fifty pounds for two and a half vergees, that is
about an acre, is, I should think, a very good price."
"That would only make, besides the one hundred pounds cash, seven
and a half pounds per annum. Such a fertile soil. Such a splendid
stream. No well to dig. Hundreds of tomatoes weighing half-a-pound
each. It's ridiculously low."
"It's time for me to part. Will you accept my price, Mr. Fallon,
'Yes' or 'No?'"
After much grumbling and protestations on the part of the farmer,
with assertions that he would be ruined giving away his land like
that, the transaction was agreed to.
Going home, Frank reviewed in his mind the state of his finance.
He possessed the house, garden, greenhouse and workshop, minus his
step-mother's dowry, and plus five hundred pounds cash. "I cannot do
much with that," he thought, "but I have enough to begin with."
And now where were his ambitious castles; where was the successful
inventor, the possessor of hundreds of thousands--contemplating to
build two span-roofed greenhouses in which he would have to work and
perspire when the thermometer would often stand at from eighty to
ninety degrees.
However, he was full of hope, his ambition had received a severe
blow, but it still clung to him. He feared to aim too high now, and
failures he dreaded. "I must begin at the bottom of the ladder," he
said to himself, "and, with God's help, I shall succeed."
He resolved to work with his brains as well as with his hands. "I
have some education," he thought, "and I will seize the
opportunities as they present themselves. I do not care for riches
now. If only I could succeed in securing enough money to put me out
of the danger of want, I should be satisfied."
Since his adventure in the garden, he had not dared to go again near
"Les Marches."
He thought that Mr. Rougeant had perhaps recognised him, but,
fortunately for him, Adele's father had failed to discern his
crouching figure.