las
Trimmer leered up at him with the circular smile, which, bisected by a
row of yellow teeth and hooded with a bristle of stubby mustache, had
now come to aggravate him almost past endurance. To-night it made him
approach his dinner with vexation, and, failing to find the man he had
sought, he finished hastily. As he went out, Silas Trimmer, though
looking straight in his direction, did not seem to be at all aware of
Bobby's approach. He was deep in a business discussion with his
priggish son-in-law.

"It's a great opportunity," he was loudly insisting. "If I can secure
that land I'll drain and improve it and cut it up into building lots.
This city is ripe for a suburban boom."

That settled it with Bobby. No matter what arguments there might be to
the contrary, if Silas Trimmer had his eye on that piece of property,
Bobby wanted it.

Applerod, though eagerness brought him early, had no sooner entered
the study next morning than Bobby, who was already dressed for
business and who had his machine standing outside the door, met him
briskly.

"Keep your hat on, Applerod," he ordered. "We'll go right around and
buy the rest of that property at once."

"I thought those figures I left last night would convince you," beamed
Mr. Applerod.

There is no describing the delight and pride with which that
highly-gratified gentleman followed the energetic young Mr. Burnit to
the curb, nor the dignity with which, a few minutes later, he led the
way into the office of one Thorne, real-estate dealer.

"Mr. Thorne, Mr. Robert Burnit," said Mr. Applerod, hastening straight
to business. "Mr. Burnit has come around to close the deal for that
Westmarsh property."

Mr. Thorne was suavity itself as he shook hands with Mr. Burnit, but
the most aching regret was in his tone as he spoke.

"I'm very sorry indeed, Mr. Burnit," he stated; "but that property,
which, by the way, seems very much in demand, passed out of my hands
yesterday afternoon."

"To whom?" Mr. Applerod excitedly wanted to know. "I think you might
have let us have time to turn around, Thorne. I spoke about it to you
yesterday morning, you know, and said that I felt quite hopeful Mr.
Burnit would buy it."

"I know," said Mr. Thorne, politely but coldly; "and I told you at the
time we talked about it that I never hold anything in the face of a
bona fide offer."

"But who has it?" Bobby insisted, more eager now to get it, since it
had slipped away from him, than ev