“If we could only reach some reasonable basis of figuring now,” said the major, addressing Mr. Betts' left ear and the back of Mr. Betts' head--“say, forty thousand, now?” Mr. Betts squinted his Stone Age eyes the better to see out of the dirty window. “Or even forty-five?” supplemented Doctor Lake, unable to hold in any longer. “Why, damn it, sir, forty-five thousand is a fabulous price to pay for this junkpile.” “Sixty thousand--in cash!” The ultimatum seemed to issue from the rear of Mr. Betts' collar. Major Covington glanced about him, taking toll of the expressions of his associates. On their faces sorrowful capitulation was replacing chagrin. He nodded toward them and together they nodded back sadly. “How much did you say you wanted down?” gulped the major weakly. “All down,” announced Mr. Betts in a tone of finality; “all in cash. Those are my terms.” “But it isn't regular!” babbled Colonel Cope. “It isn't regular for a man to sell something he doesn't want to sell either,” gulped Mr. Betts. “I bought for cash and I sell for cash. I never do business any other way.” “How much time will you give us?” asked the major. The surrender was complete and unconditional. “Until this time tomorrow,” said Mr. Betts; “then the deal is off.” Doctor Lake slid off his stool, or else he fell off. At any rate, he descended from it hurriedly. His face was very red. “Well, of all the--” he began; but the major and the colonel had him by the arms and were dragging him outside. When they were gone--all of them--Mr. Betts indulged himself in the luxury of a still, small smile--a smile that curled his lips back just a trifle and died of frostbite before it reached his fossilized eyes. “Gentlemen,” Mr. Witherbee was saying in his room at the Richland House ten minutes later, “the man has you at his mercy and apparently he knows it. I wouldn't be surprised if he had not already been in communication with the Gatins crowd. His attitude is suspicious. As I view it, it is most certainly suspicious. Gentlemen, I would advise you to close with him. He is asking a figure far in excess of the real value of the works--but what can you do?” “And will you take the gasworks at sixty thousand?” inquired Major Covington hopefully. “Ah, gentlemen,” said Mr. Witherbee, and his smile was sympathetic and all-embracing, “that, I think, is asking too much; but, in view of the circumstances, I will do this--I will take them at”--he paused to consider--“I will take them, gentlemen, at fifty thousand. In time I think I can make them worth that much to me; but fifty thousand is as far as I can go--positively. You stand to lose ten thousand on your deal for the gasworks, but I presume you will make that back and more on your sale to me of the light and power plant. Can't I offer you fresh cigars, gentlemen?”