Meantime old man Easton had been quietly observant of the situation, and after the meeting of the cottagers was announced his suspicions that Jarrod was "not honest" took definite form and threw him into a condition bordering upon nervous prostration. He made a bee-line for the lawyer's cottage, and found Jarrod sunning himself on the front porch. "Good morning, Mr. Jarrod," he began, cordially. Jarrod nodded, but did not ask his visitor to be seated. He had just been going through the books of the partners and had discovered things that to his mind rendered social intercourse with a man like Easton impossible. "I've called around to get that option," remarked the old man, seating himself upon the porch railing. "What option?" "The one I gave you so as to fool Wilder. You know what I mean," with an attempt at a jocose laugh which ended in an hysterical gurgle. "Do you refer to the option you granted to me, as trustee for the cottagers of Tamawaca?" asked the lawyer, coldly. "Why--why--that was only a bluff, you know. I gave you the option so as to buy out Wilder. You know that well enough." Jarrod shook his head. "The option belongs to the cottagers," he said. "You can't have it, Mr. Easton." "What! Can't have the option!" His voice expressed both astonishment and reproach. "By no means." "I--I'm--afraid I'm going to--to faint!" gasped Easton in a wailing voice, as he fanned himself with his hat. "I wouldn't," remarked the lawyer. "But I--Oh, this is terrible--terrible!" gasped the old man, piteously. "If I don't get that option, Mr. Jarrod, I shall be ruined--utterly ruined!" His frail body swayed from side to side, and with eyes half shut he watched the effect of his misery upon the stern faced man seated before him. "Quite likely," said Jarrod, yawning. "Ruined--ruined! At my age to face the poor-house! Oh, my poor family--oh,--oh,--oh!" He leaned backward, threw up his arms and fell over the rail of the porch to lie motionless on the soft sand beneath. Jarrod laughed. After a minute or so of silence he said calmly: "There's a red spider crawling up your left pant-leg." Easton sat up and with a nervous motion shook the bottoms of his trousers. Then he glanced at his persecutor, who was just now gazing reflectively over the smooth waters of the lake, which showed between the foliage of the trees. "Sir," said the old man, in a voice trembling with emotion, as he dusted the sand from his clothes and once more mounted the steps of the porch, "you are a cold-blooded brute!" "I know," acknowledged Jarrod. "But I'm not as bad as I used to be. Ask my wife. She'll tell you I haven't knocked her down and stamped on her in over a month." Easton sighed. He must change his tactics, evidently. "I take it," he remarked, in a mournful voice, "that this is a business matter." "You should have taken it that way before," said Jarrod. Easton brightened.