“Think your decision not to purchase unless owners want you as a neighbour rather quixotic, but of course don’t know the ins and outs of the matter. I’ll trust you to do what’s sensible, John. Be sure and have the title examined into thoroughly before you buy. Get a local man to do this; it’s a better plan. Offer him a good sum to find a flaw. If he can’t win his money you may be pretty certain that title’s O. K. I don’t want to bank on the success of your project yet. I’d rather learn something about it. I know wire nails, John, but beef cattle are out of my books. Anyhow, you can’t stand to lose a great deal, and if the climate down there agrees with me I’ll buy you out, maybe, if you can’t make a go of it. I don’t promise, understand. Anyhow, it’s your money you’re buying with. I told you that in the first letter. So think of it as that and stretch it as far as it will go. Get a good grip on each end and pull like blazes. “If your house is ready by winter we’ll have a try at your wonderful climate. Don’t know about the benefit to be derived from riding horses over fences after a lot of yellow hound-dogs, but maybe I’ll have a try at it. Like the idea of those partridges better. When you get to be fifty-four yourself you’ll understand why I’m not keen about chasing foxes. I’ve got about three dozen more bones to ache than you have, I guess. Colonel Thingmabob must be a blanked old idiot to scurry around the country at his age. That’s my opinion of the Colonel, John. “Don’t trouble about the factory. I’d rather see you a good cattle raiser or farmer than a poor mill man. And I’ve had my doubts for two or three years past as to your ever turning out the latter. We’ll be back in plenty of time to see you graduate, so do things up properly and don’t be niggardly when it comes to spreading. No cheap claret-cup for your old father, John; remember that. Let me hear how the negotiations progress. Your mother sends her love and says she will write on Sunday. Be a good boy and don’t let business interfere with study. “Your aff’te father, “WILLIAM H. NORTH.” John smiled and returned the thin, crinkly sheets to their envelope. “Dad’s a mighty good sort,” he told himself warmly. “But he’ll never get a chance to buy me out; not in a thousand years. This thing is going to go! If――oh, hang that ‘if’! I’m going to settle it right now!” He sprang to his feet with a sudden squaring of his shoulders, knocked the tobacco from his pipe and strode toward the house. As he went up the steps Phillip stirred and opened his eyes, blinking wonderingly. “I must have been asleep, I reckon,” he said drowsily. “I reckon you were,” laughed John. “How are you feeling?” “Like a two-year-old.” He stretched his arms over his head, yawned, and smiled contentedly up into the other’s face. “This is great, isn’t it?” he asked.