opened another door, through which, bowing once more, he ushered us.
Then he closed the door, leaving himself, to my relief, outside. It had
been a long time since I was waited upon by a butler and I found this
specimen rather overpowering.

The room we were in was the library, and, though it was bigger and far
more sumptuous than the library I remembered so well as a boy, the sight
of the books in their cases along the walls gave me a feeling almost of
homesickness. My resentment against my millionaire neighbor increased.
Why should he and his have everything, and the rest of us be deprived of
the little we once had?

Colton seated himself in a leather upholstered chair and waved his hand
toward another.

"Sit down," he said. He took a cigar from his pocket. "Smoke?" he asked.

I was a confirmed smoker, but I was not going to smoke one of his
cigars--not then.

"No thank you," said I. He did not comment on my refusal, but lit the
cigar himself, from the stump of his former one. Then he crossed his
legs and proceeded, with characteristic abruptness, to his subject.

"Paine," he began, "you own this land next to me, you say. Your property
ends at the fence this side of that road we just crossed, doesn't it?"

"It ends where yours begins," I announced.

"Yes. Just this side of that road."