“What is the matter with you?” he asked. “You haven't got a balky digestion, have you? I've been fighting one for the last week. That fool of a country doctor tells me if I'm not careful what I eat I'll keel over pretty soon. I told him I'd eaten what I dashed please ever since I'd had teeth and I wasn't going to quit now. But I do feel like the devil. Look it, don't I?” He did look ill, that was a fact, though I had not noticed it before and was far from feeling pity for him then. In fact I was rather glad to know that he was uncomfortable. I wanted him to be. “What is the matter with you?” he demanded. “You look as if you had seen your grandmother's ghost.” I ignored the question. “Mr. Colton,” I began again. “You made an offer not long ago.” I had caught his attention at last. He leaned back in his chair. “I did,” he said. “Ye-es, I did. Do you mean you are going to accept it?” “In a way--yes.” “In a way? What do you mean by that? I tell you frankly, Paine, if you go to work for me there must be no 'ifs' or 'buts' about it. You'll enter my office and you'll do as I, or the men under me, tell you to do.” I was glad he said that, glad that he misunderstood me. It gave me an opportunity to express my feelings toward him--as I was feeling then. “Don't let that trouble you,” I said, sarcastically. “There will be no 'ifs' and 'buts' so far as that is concerned. I have no desire to work for you, Mr. Colton, and I don't intend doing so. That was not the offer I meant.” He was surprised, I am sure, but he did not express astonishment. He bent forward and looked at me more keenly than ever. “There was only one other offer that I remember making you,” he said, slowly. “That was for that land of yours. I offered you five thousand dollars for it. Do you mean you accept that offer?” “Not exactly.” “Humph! Paine, we're wasting a lot of time here, it seems to me. My time is more or less valuable, and my digestion is, as I told you, pretty bad. Come! get it over. What do you mean? Are you going to sell me that land?” “Yes.” He puffed deliberately at his cigar. His gaze did not leave my face. “Why?” he asked, after a moment. “That is my own affair. I will sell you the land, but not for five thousand dollars.” His expression changed. He knocked the ashes from his cigar and frowned. “I see,” he sneered. “Humph! Well, I've tried to make it plain to you fellows down here that I couldn't be held up. I thought I'd done it, but evidently I haven't. Five hundred is a good price for that land. Five thousand is ridiculous, but I gave you my reasons for being willing to be robbed that much. That, however, is the limit. I'll give you five thousand, but not another cent. You can take it or get out.” This was better. When he talked like that I could answer him and enjoy it.