Mr. Phinney, replacing his watch in his pocket, meandered to the sidewalk and looked down the hill and along the length of the “Shore Road.” Beside the latter highway stood a little house, painted a spotless white, its window blinds a vivid green. In that house dwelt, and dwelt alone, Captain Solomon Berry, Sim Phinney's particular friend. Captain Sol was the East Harniss depot master and, from long acquaintance, Mr. Phinney knew that he should be through supper and ready to return to the depot, by this time. The pair usually walked thither together when the evening meal was over. But, except for the smoke curling lazily from the kitchen chimney, there was no sign of life about the Berry house. Either Captain Sol had already gone, or he was not yet ready to go. So Mr. Phinney decided that waiting was chancey, and set out alone. He climbed Cross Street to where the “Hill Boulevard,” abiding place of East Harniss's summer aristocracy, bisected it, and there, standing on the corner, and consciously patronizing the spot where he so stood, was Mr. Ogden Hapworth Williams, no less. Mr. Williams was the village millionaire, patron, and, in a gentlemanly way, “boomer.” His estate on the Boulevard was the finest in the county, and he, more than any one else, was responsible for the “buying up” by wealthy people from the city of the town's best building sites, the spots commanding “fine marine sea views,” to quote from Abner Payne, local real estate and insurance agent. His own estate was fine enough to be talked about from one end of the Cape to the other and he had bought the empty lot opposite and made it into a miniature park, with flower beds and gravel walks, though no one but he or his might pick the flowers or tread the walks. He had brought on a wealthy friend from New York and a cousin from Chicago, and they, too, had bought acres on the Boulevard and erected palatial “cottages” where once were the houses of country people. Local cynics suggested that the sign on the East Harniss railroad station should be changed to read “Williamsburg.” “He owns the place, body and soul,” said they. As Sim Phinney climbed the hill the magnate, pompous, portly, and imposing, held up a signaling finger. “Just as if he was hailin' a horse car,” described Simeon afterward. “Phinney,” he said, “come here, I want to speak to you.” The man of many trades obediently approached. “Good evenin', Mr. Williams,” he ventured. “Phinney,” went on the great man briskly, “I want you to give me your figures on a house moving deal. I have bought a house on the Shore Road, the one that used to belong to the--er--Smalleys, I believe.” Simeon was surprised. “What, the old Smalley house?” he exclaimed. “You don't tell me!” “Yes, it's a fine specimen--so my wife says--of the pure Colonial, whatever that is, and I intend moving it to the Boulevard. I want your figures for the job.”