The timber-contractor took a long time to fasten his horse to the ring
in the corner of the shed; but at last he looked up as if it were a
matter of no importance to him that John Packer was coming across the
yard. "Good-day," said he; "good-day, John." And John responded by an
inexpressive nod.
"I was goin' right by, an' I thought I'd stop an' see if you want to
do anything about them old pines o' yourn."
"I don't know's I do, Mr. Ferris," said John stiffly.
"Well, that business is easy finished," said the contractor, with a
careless air and a slight look of disappointment. "Just as you say,
sir. You was full of it a spell ago, and I kind o' kep' the matter in
mind. It ain't no plot o' mine, 'cept to oblige you. I don't want to
move my riggin' nowhere for the sake o' two trees--one tree, you might
say; there ain't much o' anything but fire-wood in the sprangly one. I
shall end up over on the Foss lot next week, an' then I'm goin' right
up country quick 's I can, before the snow begins to melt."
John Packer's hands were both plunged deep into his side pockets, and
the contractor did not fail to see that he was moving his fingers
nervously.
"You don't want 'em blowin' down, breakin' all to pieces right on to
your grass-land. They'd spile pretty near an acre fallin' in some o'
them spring gales. Them old trees is awful brittle. If you're ever
calc'latin' to sell 'em, now's your time; the sprangly one's goin'
back a'ready. They take the goodness all out o' that part o' your
field, anyway," said Ferris, casting a sly glance as he spoke.
"I don't know's I care; I can maintain them two trees," answered
Packer, with spirit; but he turned and looked away, not at the
contractor.
"Come, I mean business. I'll tell you what I'll do: if you want to
trade, I'll give you seventy-five dollars for them two trees, and it's
an awful price. Buyin' known trees like them's like tradin' for a tame
calf; you'd let your forty-acre piece go without no fuss. Don't mind
what folks say. They're yourn, John; or ain't they?"
"I'd just as soon be rid on 'em; they've got to come down some time,"
said Packer, stung by this bold taunt. "I ain't goin' to give you a
present o' half their value, for all o' that."
"You can't handle 'em yourself, nor nobody else about here; there
ain't nobody got proper riggin' to handle them butts but me. I've got
to take 'em down for ye fur's I can see," said Ferris, looking sly,
and proceeding swiftly from persuasion to final arrangements. "It's
some like gittin' a tooth hauled; you kind o' dread it, but when 't is
done you feel like a man. I ain't said nothin' to nobody, but I hoped
you'd do what you was a-mind to with your own property. You can't
afford to let all that money rot away; folks won't thank ye."
"What you goin' to give for 'em?" asked John Packer impatiently.
"Come, I can't talk all day."
"I'm a-goin' to give you seventy-five dollars in bank-bills," said the
other man, with an air of great spirit.
"I ain't a-goin' to take it, if you be," said John, turning round, and
taking a hasty step or two toward the house. As he turned he saw the
anxious faces of two women at one of the kitchen windows, and the
blood flew to his pinched face.
"Here, come back here and talk man-fashion!" shouted the
timber-dealer. "You couldn't make no more fuss if I come to seize your
farm. I'll make it eighty, an' I'll tell you jest one thing more: if
you're holdin' out, thinkin' I'll give you more, you can hold out till
doomsday."
"When'll you be over?" said the farmer abruptly; his hands were
clenched now in his pockets. The two men stood a little way apart,
facing eastward, and away from the house. The long, wintry fields
before them sloped down to a wide stretch of marshes covered with ice,
and dotted here and there with an abandoned haycock. Beyond was the
gray sea less than a mile away; the far horizon was like an edge of
steel. There was a small fishing-boat standing in toward the shore,
and far off were two or three coasters.
"Looks cold, don't it?" said the contractor. "I'll be over middle o'
the week some time, Mr. Packer." He unfastened his horse, while John
Packer went to the un-sheltered wood-pile and began to chop hard at
some sour, heavy-looking pieces of red-oak wood. He stole a look at
the window, but the two troubled faces had disappeared.