“Gentlemen,” said Mr. Witherbee--this was said at the first meeting, the one in his room--“as I have already told you, I need this town as a terminal for my interurban road and I need your plant. I expect, of course, to enlarge it and to modernize it right up to the minute; but, so far as it goes, it is a very good plant and I want it. I suggest that you gentlemen, constituting the directors and the majority stockholders, get together between now and tomorrow--this evening, say--and put a price on the property. Tomorrow I will meet you again, here in this hotel or at any point you may select; and if the price you fix seems fair, and the papers prove satisfactory to my lawyers, I know of no reason why we cannot make a trade. Gentlemen, good day. Take another cigar all round before leaving.” They went apart and confabbed industriously--old Major Covington, who was the president of the Light and Power Company Doctor Lake and Captain Woodward, the two heaviest stockholders, Colonel Courtney Cope, the attorney for the company and likewise a director, and sundry others. Between themselves, being meanwhile filled with sweet and soothing thoughts, they named a price that would let them out whole, with a margin of interest on the original venture, and yet one which, everything considered--the growing population, the new suburbs and all that--was a decent enough price. They expected to be hammered down a few thousand and were prepared to concede something; but it would seem that the big men of the East did not do business in that huckstering, cheese-trimming way. Time to them was evidently worth more than the money to be got by long chaffering over a proposition. “Gentlemen,” J. Hayden Witherbee had said right off, “the figures seem reasonable and moderate. I think I will buy from you.” A warm glow visibly lit up the faces of those who sat with him. It was as though J. Hayden Witherbee was an open fireplace and threw off a pleasant heat. “I will take over these properties,” repeated Mr. J. Hayden Witherbee; “but on one condition--I also want the ownership of your local gasworks.” There was a little pause and the glow died down a trifle--just the merest trifle. “But, sir, we do not own those gasworks,” said the stately Major Covington. “I know that,” said Mr. Witherbee; “but the point is--can't you acquire them?” “I suppose we might,” said the major; “but, Mr. Witherbee, that gasworks concern is worn out--our electric-light plant has nearly put it out of business.”