Pedlar there, I'll buy the house. There's nothing on your
conscience that can forbid you to sell, and you can leave the old woman's
fate to me."

Mr. Bewes didn't answer very quick. He looked at Jack and his mind moved
fast, though his tongue did not.

At length, however, he spoke. He'd felt surprised to hear Jack was a
moneyed man, for the general conclusion ran that he'd come back with
nought; then, being hopeful, Mr. Bewes jumped to the other extreme and
guessed perhaps that Cobley was rich after all and keeping his savings
hid.

"Of course," he said, "I've thought of that, and there's more than one
would make me a price to-morrow if I felt minded to sell."

"I'm sure there is," answered Jack. "It's a very handy little property if
it was attended to."

"And more than an acre of good ground to it."

"Just over an acre--ground that be run to waste for years, but could be
made good."

"And what would you feel like paying, Jack, if I was to see your point
about my boy?" asked Bewes.

"You do see that point, master," answered Cobley, "because you're clever
and straight, else you wouldn't stand where you do. When you was young,
you wouldn't have drove no woman into a corner for love, nor yet married
her on a sacrifice. And I dare swear, if Dicky saw it like that, he'd be a
lot too proud to carry on, but start again and start fair. As to what I'll
pay, if you're a seller, the price lies with you."

"I've thought to auction it," answered Mr. Bewes, which was true, because
he had done so.

Jack nodded.

"I'd like none the less to buy it at a fair figure and save you the
trouble. You'll be knowing, I expect, what would satisfy you in money
down."

Then they talked for another solid hour, farmer trying to get Jack to name
a price so as he might run it up, and Jacky determined not to do so.

In despair, at last, Nicholas said 'twas Cobley's for seven hundred
pounds, well knowing the price ran about three hundred too high. In fact,
Jack told him so; and then Bewes fetched his whisky bottle and they went
at it again; and then they closed, and a good bit to farmer's
astonishment, Cobley fetched a cheque-book out of his pocket and wrote a
cheque on the spot as though to the manner born.

Four hundred and seventy-five pounds he paid, and as Nicholas Bewes
confessed to Jack, 'twas only the money in his pocket put enough iron into
him to stand up to his son, afterwards.

But what Nicholas might have to say to Richa