After dinner Jim drove out toward Le Bar’s. At Bullet’s Corners, waiting in the shade of a big hickory, were Zaanan Frame and his horse Tiffany. “Howdy,” said Zaanan. “Goin’ somewheres?” “Thought I’d call on old man Le Bar,” said Jim, playing the game according to Zaanan’s rules. “Goin’ that way myself,” said Zaanan, with surprise that seemed real. “Calc’late I’ll git there ’bout a quarter of an hour first, seem’s I’ve got the best horse.” “You have a fine animal,” said Jim, without a quiver. Zaanan looked over at him suspiciously; gazed at Tiffany’s ancient and knobby frame; opened his mouth as though to make an observation, but decided on silence. “G’-by, Jim,” he said, in a moment. “G’-by, Judge,” said Jim. In an honest fifteen minutes Jim drove on until he saw two old men sitting on the door-step of a house at the roadside. It was a little, weather-beaten house, not such as one would expect to find the owner of a fortune in timber housed in. But one of the men was Zaanan Frame, so Jim stopped and alighted. “Jim,” said Zaanan, “meet Mr. Le Bar. This here’s Mr. Ashe, Louis.” “She’s yo’ng man,” said Louis, with a twinkle. “Mr. Le Bar figgers he’s gittin’ on in life,” said Zaanan. “He sort of wants to git his affairs settled up on account of maybe bein’ called away sudden—” “When le bon Dieu say,” Louis interjected, softly. “He owns quite a piece of timber,” said Zaanan, “and figgered you might have some use for it. Hardwood.” “Yes,” said Jim, not knowing what was expected of him. “How many acres?” “Twenty t’ousand-odd acre,” said Louis. “It’ll run twenty to twenty-five thousand beech, birch, and maple to the acre,” said Zaanan. “Diversity Hardwood Company dey hoffer me twelf dollar an acre,” said Louis. “But me, I not sell to heem for twenty. I sell not at all till comes dat time w’en I’m ready. Now dat time she’s come.” “How much are you asking?” “First price—twelf dollar and a half; last price—twelf dollar and a half. No dicker.” Jim looked at Zaanan, who nodded. “I’ll take a sixty-day option at that price, if you’re agreeable.” “How much for dat option?” “A thousand dollars,” said Jim. “Ver’ good. We make trade, eh? Now Zaanan she write for us a paper.” Zaanan completed the legal details; they smoked and ate of Louis’s honey and doughnuts, and started on the return to Diversity. “Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars,” Jim said to Zaanan as their buggies came abreast on a broad stretch of road. “It’s a lot of money.” “Um! I’ve knowed fellers to do a lot with an option down to Grand Rapids.” “What ought I to get for this land?” “Some folks might go as high as thirteen dollars. But if they was apt to lose it I shouldn’t be s’prised if this Diversity Hardwood Company was to go fifteen. It’s wuth it to them—or anybody else. But I calc’late I’d git a bonyfidy offer from some other feller ’fore I went to Moran’s crowd.”