"Is
this on the level or simply another low tackle?"
"It's the goods," I answered: "I simply can't frighten, coax,
scare, drive or push my home companions away from your property, so
I'd like to buy it if you're game to cut the cards?"
"Been playing the lottery?" he snickered.
"No, but I have the Pierponts, all right, all right," I replied;
"will you put $14,000 in your kick and pass me over the baronial
estate?"
"Fourteen thousand!" Bunch repeated slowly. "Sure, I will. If you
can Morgan that amount I'll make good with the necessary documents,
and then you and your family troubles may sit around on fly paper
in Jiggersville for the rest of your natural lives for all I care."
I explained to Bunch that I wanted the deed made out in the name of
Peter Grant for the reason that Uncle Peter was a bigger farmer
than I, and in short order the preliminary arrangements were
completed to the satisfaction and relief of both parties concerned.
That evening I went back to Jiggersville feeling as light as a pin
feather on a young duck.
Uncle Peter could have the property; Bunch could buy his sister
another castle, and I was ahead of the game just $6,000, more than
enough to square me for all the green paper I had torn up at the
track.
Of course, it did look as though Uncle Peter had been whipsawed,
but when I considered the bundles the old gentleman had stored away
in the vaults, and when I remembered his eagerness to cough, I
simply couldn't produce one pang of conscience.
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