I got shet of that real-estate feller quick as I could (didn't want him to remember that he'd talked in his sleep), and hunted up the post-master. The postmaster was one of the china-eyed, corn-silk Swedes, and he owned quite a bit of Goldstone. I tole him I wanted to buy a couple of lots 'cause I was goin' to be married, and figgered to build. (That wasn't no lie, neither.) Said I didn't want to live in the part of town where the greasers was fer the reason that I'd rather settle down in a Sioux Camp in August _any_ day than amongst a crowd of blamed _cholos_. The postmaster wasn't anxious to sell. Said he didn't have more'n a block left, and he wanted a big price fer that. "'Cause this boom is _solid,_"--he kinda half whispered it. "How do I know? Wal, I pumped one of them suspender-cityzens this mornin'." That showed me I'd got to hump myself. If that real-estate feller blabbed any more, I wouldn't be able to buy. The station-agent owned some lots. I hiked fer the deepot. When I looked into the ticket-office through the little winda, I seen that agent--one hand on the tick-machine, other holdin' his haid--with his mouth wide open, like a hungry wall-eye. "Lloyd," he says, pantin' hard, "I ain't got no right to tell, but I can't hole it in. Them Chicago fellers, Lloyd, are a Standard Oil bunch. Look a-here!" And he pushed out a telegram. I wouldn't 'a' believed it if I hadn't saw it writ down in black and white. But there it was, haided Chicago, addressed to Porky, and as plain as day: "_Buy up all that's possible. Price no object. Rockafeller._" Say! I come nigh lettin' out a yell. Then, knowin' they was no use to ast the agent to sell, I split fer the liv'ry-stable. And when I got back into town late that night, I'd been down to a ranch below Goldstone and handed over my nest-aig fer a quarter-section just south of town. Next mornin', they was a nice pile of stakes throwed out on to that sand patch of mine, all them stakes white on the one end and sharp on the other. And they was a big sign onloaded, too. Yas, ma'am. It said, "The Lloyd Addition." And that _same_ noon, Number 201 brung me a letter from little Macie! I didn't cut up my quarter into lots straight off. Made up my mind it'd be best to see that real-estate feller first, ast his _ad_vice, and see if he'd handle the property. So I made fer his office in a _turrible_ sweat. Heerd awful loud talkin' as I come nigh, and seen they was a big crowd 'round the door. And here was Porky and the parson, just _havin'_ it--up and down! "The idear!" the parson was sayin', "--the idear of you' thinkin' you can go stick a pavilion where licker'll be sold right next to the Cathedral!" (He was madder 'n all git out!) Porky shrug his shoulders. "My dear _sir,_" he says, "I got to use my own _land_ in my own _way._"