"Yes. Rodgers came to me three months ago and offered it for eight
thousand dollars. It's worth far more than that to a man who could use
it. With its good lines and its solid construction it has possibilities.
However, after looking it over I decided it wouldn't answer my purpose. I
gave the key back to Rodgers two months ago."
"Rodgers came to me," Mr. Sweetman added. "I think maybe I will buy,
maybe for seven thousand dollars, but I do not tell him. It is bad
business to buy quick and pay what is first asked."
"You won't want it now," Dr. Stone said.
"Maybe. First I must think."
After that there was a silence in the room. Joe looked from his uncle to
Frederick Wingate. The artist leaned against the mantel and seemed to
find a cynical amusement in watching the man who had come with him.
Strained lines had formed suddenly around the blind man's mouth.
"You are afraid of ghosts, Sweetman?" he said softly.
"I am afraid," the farmer answered heavily.
"Yet you might buy?"
"It is good land. I could tear down the house and sell it away, some here
and some there." Joe saw greed gleam in the dull eyes. "Maybe with ghost
talk around it will come a better price. Maybe I could yet buy for three
thousand dollars."
"Business first, Sweetman," the doctor said pleasantly. He snapped a
finger, and at once Lady arose; and Joe, his heart pounding, hurried to
get the dog's harness. Frederick Wingate still leaned against the mantel
above the fireplace.
"Going ghost hunting, Doctor?"
"You can never tell what you'll find on a hunt," the doctor answered
dryly. "Coming?"
"This is the year 1934," the artist said, amused again. "Ghosts have gone
out of fashion. I have letters to write."
The doctor slipped the harness on the dog. Lady, alert, waited beside him
for the signal to go. Mr. Sweetman had lumbered to his feet.
"Care for it, Joe?" Dr. Stone asked.