"Oh, very well," says I. "We'll settle on a cash basis, then. Now,
you've got no use for that tract. We have. Course, we can get other
land just as good, but yours is the handiest. If you've ever tried to
wish it onto anyone, you know you couldn't get a dollar an acre. We'll
give you five."

"Please go away," says he.

"Make it six," says I. "Now, that tract measures up about--"

"Tidman," cuts in Mr. Pettigrew, "could you manage to make this young
man understand that I don't care to be bothered with such rot?"

Tidman didn't have a chance.

"Excuse me," says I, flashin' Old Hickory's ten thousand dollar check,
"but if there's anything overripe about that, just let me know. That's
real money, that is. If you want it certified I'll--"

"Stop," says T. Waldo, holdin' up his hand like I was the cross-town
traffic. "You must not go on with this silly business chatter. I am
not in the least interested. Besides, you are interrupting my tutoring
period."

"Your which?" says I, gawpin'.

"Mr. Tidman," he goes on, "is my private tutor. He helps me to study
from ten to two every day."