A LITTLE VACATION PASTIME IN WHICH GREEK MEETS GREEK
Old man Gifford was not at home in his squat, low-roofed farm-house,
but a woman shaped like a pyramid of diminishing pumpkins directed them
down through the grove to the corn patch. It was necessary to lift
strenuously upon the sagging end of a squeaky old gate, and scrape it
across gulleys, to get the automobile into the narrow, deeply-rutted
road, and with a mind fearful of tires the chauffeur wheeled down
through the grove quite slowly, a slowness for which Sam was duly
grateful, since it allowed him to take a careful appraisement of the
walnut trees, interspersed with occasional oaks, which bordered both
sides of their path. They were tall, thick, straight-trunked trees,
from amongst which the underbrush had been carefully cut away. It was
a joy to his now vandal soul, this grove, and already he could see
those majestic trunks, after having been sawed with as little wasteful
chopping as possible, toppling in endless billowy furrows.
Old man Gifford came inquiringly up between the long rows of corn to
the far edge of the grove. He was bent and weazened, and more gnarled
than any of his trees, and even his fingers seemed to have the knotty,
angular effect of twigs. A fringe of gray beard surrounded his
clean-shaven face, which was criss-crossed with innumerable little
furrows that the wind and rain had worn in it; but a pair of shrewd old
eyes twinkled from under his bushy eyebrows.
"Morning, 'Ennery," he said, addressing the chauffeur with a squeaky
little voice in which, though after forty years of residence in
America, there was still a strong trace of British accent; and then his
calculating gaze rested calmly in turns upon the other occupants of the
machine.
"Good morning, Mr. Gifford," returned the chauffeur. "Fine day, isn't
it?"
"Good corn-ripenin' weather," agreed the old man, squinting at the sky
from force of habit, and then, being satisfied that there was no
threatening cloud in all the visible blue expanse, he returned to a
calm consideration of the strangers, waiting patiently for Mr. Turner
to introduce himself.
"I understand, Mr. Gifford, that you are open to an offer for your
walnut trees," began Mr. Turner, looking at his watch.
"Well, I might be," admitted the old man cautiously.
"I see," returned Sam; "that is, you might be interested if the price
were right. Let's get right down to brass tacks. How much do you
want?"
"Standin' or cut?"
"Well, say standing?"
"How much do you offer?"
Miss Stevens' gaze roved from the one to the other and found enjoyment
in the fact that here Greek had met Greek.
Sam's reply was prompt and to the point. He named a price.
"No," said the old man instantly. "I been a-holdin' out for five
dollars a thousand more than that."
Things were progressing. A basis for haggling had been established.
Sam Turner, however, had the advantage. He knew the sharp advance in
walnut announced that morning. Old man Gifford would not be aware of
it until the rural free delivery brought his evening paper, of the
night before, some time that afternoon. In view of the recent advance,
even at Mr. Gifford's price there was a handsome profit in the
transaction.
"The reason you've had to hold out for your rate until right now was
that nobody would pay it," said Sam confidently. "Now I'm here to talk
spot cash. I'll give you, say, a thousand dollars down, and the
balance immediately upon measurement as the logs are loaded upon the
cars."
The old man nodded in approval.
"The terms is all right," he said.
"How much will you take F. O. B. Restview?"
"Well, cuttin' and trimmin' and haulin' ain't much in my line,"
returned the old man, again cautious; "but after all, I reckon that
there'd be less damage to my property if I looked after it myself. Of
course, I'd have to have a profit for handlin' it. I'd feel like
holdin' out for--for--" and after some hesitation he again named a
figure.
"You've made that same proposition to others," charged Sam shrewdly,
"and you couldn't get the price." Upon the heels of this he made his
own offer.
The old man shook his head and turned as if to start back to the corn
field.
"No, I can get better than that," he declared, shaking his head.
"Come back here and let's talk turkey," protested Sam compellingly.
"You name the very lowest price you'll take, delivered on board the
cars at Restview."
The old man reached down, pulled up a blade of grass, chewed it
carefully, spit it out, and named his very, very lowest price; then he
added: "What's the most you'll give?"
Miss Stevens leaned forward intently.
Sam very promptly named a figure five dollars lower.
"I'll split the difference with you," offered the old man.
"It's a bargain!" said Sam, and reaching into the inside pocket of his
tennis coat, he brought out some queer furniture for that sort of
garment--a small fountain pen and an extremely small card-case, from
the latter of which he drew four folded blank checks.
He reached over and borrowed the chauffeur's enameled cap, dusted it
carefully with his handkerchief, laid a check upon it and held his
fountain pen poised. "What are your initials, please, Mr. Gifford?"
"Wait a minute," said the old man hastily. "Don't make out that check
just yet. I don't do any business or sign any contracts till I talk
with Hepseba."
"All right. Climb right in with Henry there," directed Sam, seizing
upon the chauffeur's name. "We'll drive straight up to see her."
"I'll walk," firmly declared Mr. Gifford. "I never have rode in one of
them things, and I'm too old to begin."
"Very well," said Sam cheerfully, jumping out of the machine with great
promptness. "I'll walk with you. Back to the house, Henry," and he
started anxiously to trudge up the road with Mr. Gifford, leaving Henry
to manoeuver painfully in the narrow space. After a few steps,
however, a sudden thought made him turn back. "Maybe you'd rather walk
up, too," he suggested to Miss Stevens.
"No, I think I'll ride," she said coldly.
He opened the door in extreme haste.
"Do come on and walk," he pleaded. "Don't hold it against me because I
just don't seem to be able to think of more than one thing at a time;
but I was so wrapped up in this deal that-- Really," and he sank his
voice confidentially, "I have a tremendous bargain here, and I'll be
nervous about it until I have it clenched. I'll tell you why as we go
home."
He held out his hand as a matter of course to help her down. The white
of his eyes was remarkably clear, the irises were remarkably blue, the
pupils remarkably deep. Suddenly her face cleared and she laughed.
"It was silly of me to be snippy, wasn't it?" she confessed, as she
took his hand and stepped lightly to the ground. It had just recurred
to her that when he knew Princeman was walking over to see her he had
said nothing, but had engaged an automobile.
Old man Gifford had nothing much to say when they caught up with him.
Mr. Turner tried him with remarks about the weather, and received full
information, but when he attempted to discuss the details of the walnut
purchase, he received but mere grunts in reply, except finally this:
"There's no use, young man. I won't talk about them trees till I get
Hepseba's opinion."
At the house Hepseba waddled out on the little stoop in response to old
man Gifford's call, and stood regarding the strangers stonily through
her narrow little slits of eyes.
"This gentleman, Hepseba," said old man Gifford, "wants to buy my
walnut trees. What do you think of him?"
In response to that leading question, Hepseba studied Sam Turner from
head to foot with the sort of scrutiny under which one slightly reddens.
[Illustration: Hepseba studied him from head to foot]
"I like him," finally announced Hepseba, in a surprisingly liquid and
feminine voice. "I like both of them," an unexpected turn which
brought a flush to the face of Miss Stevens.
"All right, young man," said old man Gifford briskly. "Now, then, you
come in the front room and write your contract, and I'll take your
check."
All alacrity and open cordiality now, he led the way into the queer-old
front room, musty with the solemnity of many dim Sundays.
"Just set down here in this easy chair, Mrs.-- What did you say your
name is?" Mr. Gifford inquired, turning to Sam.
"Turner; Sam J. Turner," returned that gentleman, grinning. "But this
is Miss Stevens."
"No offense meant or taken, I hope," hastily said the old man by way of
apology; "but I do say that Mr. Turner would be lucky if he had such a
pretty wife."
"You have both good taste and good judgment, Mr. Gifford," commented
Sam as airily as he could; then he looked across at Miss Stevens and
laughed aloud, so openly and so ingenuously that, so far from the
laughter giving offense, it seemed, strangely enough, to put Miss
Josephine at her ease, though she still blushed furiously. There was
nothing in that laugh nor in his look but frank, boyish enjoyment of
the joke.
There ensued a crisp and decisive conversation between Mr. Gifford and
Mr. Turner about the details of their contract, and 'Ennery was
presently called in to append to it his painfully precise signature in
vertical writing, Miss Stevens adding hers in a pretty round hand.
Then Hepseba, to bind the bargain, brought in hot apple pie fresh from
the oven, and they became quite a little family party indeed, and very
friendly, 'Ennery sitting in the parlor with them and eating his pie
with a fork.
"I know what Hepseba thinks," said old man Gifford, as he held the door
of the car open for them. "She thinks you're a mighty keen young man
that has to be watched in the beginning of a bargain, because you'll
give as little as you can; but that after the bargain's made you don't
need any more watching. But Lord love you, I have to be watched in a
bargain myself. I take everything I can."
As he finished saying this he was closing the door of the car, but
Hepseba called to them to wait, and came puffing out of the house with
a little bundle wrapped in a newspaper.
"I brought this out for your wife," she said to Mr. Turner, and handed
it to Miss Josephine. "It's some geranium slips. Everybody says I got
the very finest geraniums in the bottoms here."
"Goodness, Hepseba," exclaimed old man Gifford, highly delighted; "that
ain't his wife. That's Miss Stevens. I made the same mistake," and he
hawhawed in keen enjoyment.
Hepseba was so evidently overcome with mortification, however, and her
huge round face turned so painfully red, that Miss Stevens lost
entirely any embarrassment she might otherwise have felt.
"It doesn't matter at all, I assure you, Mrs. Gifford," she said with
charming eagerness to set Hepseba at ease. "I am very fond of
geraniums, and I shall plant these slips and take good care of them. I
thank you very, very much for them."
As the machine rolled away Hepseba turned to old man Gifford:
"I like both of them!" she stated most decisively.