"All right," he said, "but you can't rope me in on your feuds. If you want to give me an option on your stock in the company for five or ten cents a share I may take a look at your mine. But I'll tell you one thing--you'll sign an agreement first to leave the country and never come back. I'm a business man, working for business people, and these shotgun methods don't go." "Well, I'll do it!" exclaimed the Widow, passing by his numerous insults in a sudden mad grab at release. "Just draw up your paper and I'll sign it in a minute--but I want ten cents a share!" "Ten cents or ten dollars--it makes no difference to me. You can put it as high as you like--but if it's too high, my principals won't take it. I can't stop to inspect it now, because I'm due up north, but I'll tell you what I'll do. You give me an option on all your stock, with a written permission to take possession, and if the other two big owners will do as much I'll come back and consider the mine. But get this straight--the first time you butt in, this option and agreement is off!" "What do you mean--butt in?" demanded the Widow truculently, and then she bit her lip. "Well, never mind," she said, "just draw up your papers. I'll show you I'm business myself." "Huh!" he grunted and, whipping out a fountain pen, he sat down and wrote rapidly at a table. "There," he said tearing the leaf from his notebook and putting it into her hands, "just read that over and if you want to sign it we'll close the deal, right here." The Widow took the paper and, turning it to the light, began a labored perusal. "Memorandum of agreement," she muttered, squinting her eyes at his handwriting, "hmm, I'll have to go and get my glasses. 'For and in consideration of the sum of ten dollars--to me in hand paid by M. R. Wiley,' and so forth--oh well, I guess it's all right, just show me where to sign." "No," he said, "let me read it to you--you ought to know what you're signing." "No, just show me where to sign," protested the Widow petulantly, "and where it says ten cents a share." "Well, it says that here," answered Wiley, putting his finger on the place, "but I'm going to read it to you--it wouldn't be legal otherwise." He wiped the beaded sweat from his brow and glanced towards the kitchen door. In this desperate game which he was framing on the Widow the luck had all come his way, but as he cleared his throat and commenced to read Virginia came bounding in. She was carrying a kitten, but when she saw the paper between them she dropped it on the floor. "Virginia!" cried her mother, "go and hunt my glasses. They're somewhere in my bedroom." "All right," she responded, but when she came back she glanced inquiringly at the paper. "You can go now," announced the Widow, adjusting her glasses, but Virginia threw up her head. "Do you know who that is?" she demanded brusquely, pointing an accusing finger at Wiley. "Why--er--no," returned the Widow, now absorbed in the agreement.