nt.

While the Morans--say, let's put them off as long as we can. And the
more we linger in the society of Mr. Bayne the better we ought to be. Up
to last spring, I blush to admit, I'd never been favored much. Course,
commutin' in and out the way I do, I didn't have a good show. But we
passes the nod when we meets. Elisha P. never strains his neck durin'
the exercise. You could detect his nod with the naked eye, though, and I
expect that was a good deal from him to me. You get the idea. That nod
includes only the Mr. McCabe that owns a shore-front place and votes in
Rockhurst-on-the-Sound. It don't stretch so far as to take in Shorty
McCabe who runs a Physical Culture Studio on 42d-st. And that's all
right too. I'm satisfied.

Then here one day back in April, as I'm drivin' home from the station
with Sadie, who should step to the curb and hold me up but Mr. Bayne.
Does it offhand, friendly, mind you. Course I stops sudden. Sadie bows
and smiles. I lifts my lid. Mr. Bayne holds his square-topped derby
against his white shirt front. We shakes hands cordial. And I'm most
gaspin' for breath when it's over.

"Ah, by the way, Mr. McCabe," says he, "about that--er--Sucker Brook
tract? Have you thought it over yet?"

Just like that, you know; as if it was something we'd been talkin' about
for months, while as a matter of fact this is the first hint I'd had
that Elisha P. was interested at all.

Not that it hadn't been put up to me. Why, three diff'rent parties had
interviewed me confidential on the proposition, offerin' to let me in on
the ground floor, and givin' as many diff'rent but more or less
convincin' reasons for bein' so generous. One explains how he wanted to
see the tract go to some local man instead of New York speculators;
another confesses that their little syndicate is swingin' too much
undeveloped property and has got to start a bargain counter; while the
third man slaps me hearty on the back and whispers that he just wants to
put me next to a good thing.

I come near swallowin' the bait too; for I'd turned over some Bronx
buildin' lots not long before at a nice little advance, and the kale was
only drawin' three per cent. Course this Sucker Brook chunk ain't much
to look at, a strip of marshy ground along the railroad; but half a mile
away they're sellin' villa plots, and acreage is mighty scarce so near
the city line as we are. Took me a week of scoutin' among my friends to
discover that this gang of re