Before he could answer there came a knock at the door. The butler
appeared.

"I beg your pardon, sir--" he began. His master cut him short.

"Tell 'em to wait," he ordered. "I can't see any one now, Johnson. If it
is that damned carpenter he can wait."

"It isn't the carpenter, sir," explained Johnson. "It's Mrs. Colton,
sir. She wishes to know if you have bought that road. She says three of
those 'orrid fishcarts have gone by in the last hour, sir, and they are
making her very nervous. That's all, sir."

"Tell her I've bought it," snapped the head of the house. "Get out."

The butler obeyed orders. Colton turned to me.

"You heard that, Paine," he said. "That's my reason, the principal one.
I bought this place principally on account of Mrs. Colton's health. The
doctors said she needed quiet and rest. I thought she could have them
here--God knows the place looked forsaken enough--but it appears she
can't. Whenever she or I sit on the veranda or at a window we have to
watch a procession of jays driving smelly fish carts through that lane
of yours, or be stared at by a gang of countrymen hanging over the
fence. It's a nuisance. It is bad enough for me or my daughter and our
guests, but it will be the ruination of my wife's nerves, and I can't
stand for that. You see the position I'm in. You heard what I told that
butler. I said I had bought the road. You wouldn't make me a liar, would
you? I'll give you five hundred for that bunch of sand. You couldn't get
more for it if you sold it by the pound, like tea. Say yes, and close