at I might see a way to utilize it, if the price
were reasonable enough. What would you take for it?"

This was an entirely different matter. Mr. Bubble pursed up his lips.

"Well, I don't know. The land surrounding it is worth two hundred
dollars an acre."

Wallingford grinned, but only internally. He knew this to be a highly
exaggerated estimate, but he let it pass without comment.

"No doubt," he agreed; "but your swamp is worth exactly nothing
per square mile; in fact, worth less than nothing. It is only a
breeding-place of mosquitoes and malaria. How many acres does it
cover?"

"About forty."

"I suppose ten dollars an acre would buy it?"

"By no means," protested Mr. Bubble. "I wouldn't have a right of way
split through my farm for four hundred dollars. Couldn't think of it."

It was Wallingford's turn to be silent.

"Tell you what I'll do," he finally began. "I think of settling down
in Blakeville. I like the town from what I've seen of it, and I may
make some important investments here."

Mr. Bubble nodded his head gravely. A man who carried over eight
thousand dollars surplus cash in his pocket had a right to talk that
way.

"The matter, of course," continued Wallingford, "requires considerable
further investigation. In the meantime, I stand ready to pay you now a
hundred dollars for a thirty-day option upon forty acres of your swamp
land, the hundred to apply upon a total purchase price of one thousand
dollars. Moreover, I'll make it a part of the contract that no
enterprise be undertaken upon this ground without receiving your
sanction."

Mr. Bubble considered this matter in pompous silence for some little
time.

"Suppose we just reduce that proposition to writing, Mr. Wallingford,"
he finally suggested, and without stirring from his seat he raised his
voice and called: "Fannie!"

In reply two voices approached the door, one sharp, querulous,
nagging, the other, the younger and fresher voice, protesting; then
the girl came in, followed closely by her stepmother. The girl looked
at Wallingford brightly. He was the first young man who had bearded
the lioness at Bubble Villa, and she appreciated the novelty. Mrs.
Bubble, however, distinctly glared at him, though the eyes of both
women roved from him to the pile of bills held down with a paper
weight on Mr. Bubble's desk. Mr. Bubble made way for his daughter.

"Write a little agreement for Mr. Wallingford and myself," directed
Mr. Bubble, and