"My dear, impulsive young friend," he interrupted in oleaginous
tones, "how often do you have to be told that I am not quite ready to
buy that quarter-section?"
"Oh," Bryce retorted, "I merely called up to tell you that every
dollar and every asset you have in the world, including your heart's
blood, isn't sufficient to buy the Valley of the Giants from us now."
"Eh? What's that? Why?"
"Because, my dear, overcautious, and thoroughly unprincipled enemy,
it was sold five minutes ago for the tidy sum of one hundred thousand
dollars, and if you don't believe me, come over to my office and I'll
let you feast your eyes on the certified check."
He could hear a distinct gasp. After an interval of five seconds,
however, the Colonel recovered his poise. "I congratulate you," he
purred. "I suppose I'll have to wait a little longer now, won't I?
Well--patience is my middle name. Au revoir."
The Colonel hung up. His hard face was ashen with rage, and he stared
at a calendar on the wall with his cold, phidian stare. However, he
was not without a generous stock of optimism. "Somebody has learned
of the low state of the Cardigan fortune," he mused, "and taken
advantage of it to induce the old man to sell at last. They're
figuring on selling to me at a neat profit.
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