"Land sales, for instance? If so, I must know. I'm not little Annette any longer. I must know things now." The old man stroked his white beard nervously. His eyes shifted uneasily toward Payne. "Oh! pardon my negligence," exclaimed the girl. "This is Mr. Payne, father. He's purchased a lot of land down here. Mr. Payne, this is my father, Senator Fairclothe." Payne bowed automatically. He was dumbfounded for a moment, but in a flash his self-control had returned. "We have had some correspondence--business correspondence--Senator," he said. Senator Fairclothe was watching him with the shifty eyes of a cornered man who stands on guard, ready to parry a blow. "Have we? I don't recall the name, young man. Lane, Caine?" "Payne." "No. No, I don't remember the name." "You're sure you don't, father?" interposed Miss Fairclothe. Payne came to the rescue. "Of course you wouldn't remember my name, Senator. You have too many large affairs to occupy your mind. It was merely about some land down here. I've meant for some time to write you and thank you for influencing me to buy the land down here." "What!" cried the girl, and stood dumb, staring at Payne, with a hand pressed to her lips. "Influence you?" snapped Fairclothe testily. "How could I influence you? You are no child. The buyer must protect himself. It is the first rule of business." "Nevertheless, you did influence me. It was your letters that caused me to decide to buy. And I want to thank you, because otherwise I would not be where I stand at present." The Senator tugged at his beard, watching Payne narrowly, suspicious of some trick. "Any letters I may have written to you--which I do not remember doing--were merely a formal part of one phase of my activities. It is gratifying, of course, to hear you express your satisfaction. On the other hand, as I said, the oldest law in business is 'Let the buyer beware,' and it would not have disturbed me in the least, young man, had you appeared with a poppycock song of dissatisfaction with your purchase." "But I am satisfied," insisted Payne. "Some of the land I bought for $30 an acre will be worth $200 when the ditcher gets in and we drain it. It's rich, black muck, three feet deep in spots. I see profit of $100 an acre within a year." "Hm," said Senator Fairclothe. "As much as that?" "That's the minimum." "You will make a hundred dollars on our land--the land you've purchased, I should say?" "As soon as I get it drained, yes, sir." Senator Fairclothe tugged again at his beard. There was a new look in his eyes as he revolved over and over again the words, "one hundred dollars profit per acre." Payne had purchased a thousand acres from his company. A hundred times a thousand meant a hundred thousand dollars. "I am glad to hear you say that," he said finally. "I hope you will dig your drainage ditches soon?"