“I'll get out very shortly,” I said. “You are no more anxious to have that happen than I am. I don't want your other cent. I don't want your five thousand dollars. I'll sell you the land on one condition--no, on two. The first is that you pay me thirty-five hundred dollars for it.” “WHAT?” I had upset his composure this time. He forgot to sneer; he even forgot to smoke. “What?” he cried again. “Thirty-five hundred! Why, I offered you--” “I know your offer. This is mine: I will sell you the land for thirty-five hundred, and not another cent. That, as you say, is the limit. You can take it or--or I will follow your suggestion and get out.” We looked at each other. His fingers moved toward the match box on the table. He took a match, scratched it, and held it to the end of his cigar. Then he took the cigar from his lips, blew out the match and tossed the latter into the fireplace. “What is the second condition?” he asked, abruptly. “That you pay me in cash, in money and not by check, at once.” “At once? Now, do you mean?” “Yes, now. To-night if possible; if not, no later than nine o'clock to-morrow morning.” “Humph! Do you think I carry thirty-five hundred loose in my change pocket?” “I don't know. But that is the second condition.” “Humph! . . . Look here, Paine; what--? I offered you the five thousand. That offer holds good.” “I don't accept it. I will sell for thirty-five hundred; no more and no less.” “But why not more?” “I don't know. Yes, I do, too. You said once that you were willing to pay forty-five hundred for the privilege of having your own way. Perhaps I am willing to sacrifice fifteen hundred for the privilege of having mine. At all events I mean what I say.” “But why just thirty-five? Wouldn't you take thirty-six?” “No. It is useless to argue, Mr. Colton, and useless to ask my reasons. I have them, and that is enough. Will you accept MY offer?” He hesitated. The sneer had left his face and his tone when he addressed me was respectful, though there was a curious note of chagrin or dissatisfaction in it. I had expected him to be eager and, perhaps, mockingly triumphant. He was not. He seemed reluctant, almost disappointed. “I suppose I'll have to,” he said. “But, Paine, what is up? Why are you doing this? You're not afraid of me? No, of course you're not. You're not the kind to squeal and lie down because you think the odds are against you . . . Confound you!” with a sudden burst of impatience, “you are enough to upset all the self-conceit a man's got in him. Just as I think I'm beginning to size you up you break loose in a new place.” “Pardon me,” I put in, “but I don't see that you are helping to save that valuable time of yours. I understand that you accept. Will you pay me now?” He rose, threw away his cigar, and, with his hands in his pockets, stood regarding me. “Your mind is made up, is it?” he asked. “Yes.”