“It might seem so to a man personally interested in the deal,” admitted Miller, as the introduction to another of his blows from the shoulder; “but as lawyer for my clients I can only obey orders, like the boy who stood on the burning deck.” Wilson's face fell. The remote clicking of the typewriter seemed to grate upon his high-wrought nerves, and he went and slammed the partly opened door, muttering something like an oath. On that slight journey, however, he caught an idea. “Suppose you wire them my proposition and wait here for a reply,” he suggested. Miller frowned. “That would do no good,” he said. “I'm sorry I can' t explain fully, but the truth is this: I happen to know that they wish, for reasons of their own, to take up the note you hold, and that nothing else will suit them.” At this juncture Wilson lost his grip on all self-possession, and degenerated into the sullen anger of sharp and unexpected disappointment. “I don't feel that we are being fairly treated,” he said. “We most naturally assumed that your clients wanted to--to extend our option on the property for at least another six months. We assumed that from the fact that we had no notification from them that they would be ready to pay the note to-day. That's where we feel injured, Mr. Miller.” Rayburn threw his cigar into a cuspidor; his attitude of being a non-interested agent was simply a stroke of genius. Behind this plea he crouched, showing himself only to fire shots that played havoc with whatever they struck. “I believe my clients _did_ feel, I may say, honor bound to you to sell for the price they offered; but--now I may be mistaken--but I'm sure they were under the impression, as I was, too, that you only wanted the property provided you could build a railroad from Dar-ley to it, and--” “Well, that's true,” broke in Wilson. “That's quite true.” “And,” finished Miller, still behind his inevitable fortification, “they tell me that you have certainly shown indifference to the project ever since the note was given. In fact, they asked me pointedly if I thought you meant business, and I was forced, conscientiously, to tell them that I thought you seemed to have other fish to fry.” Wilson glared at the lawyer as if he wanted to kick him for a stupid idiot who could not do two things at once--work for the interests of his clients and not wreck his plans also. It had been a long time since he had found himself in such a hot frying-pan. “So you think the thing is off,” he said, desperately, probably recalling several purchases of land he had made in the section he had expected to develop. “You think it's off?” “I hardly know what to say,” said Miller. “The old gentleman, Mr. Bishop, is a slow-going old-timer, but his son is rather up to date, full of energy and ambition. I think he's made up his mind to sell that property.”