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"Well," Fluss addressed himself to Betty, "do you know anything about how the farm was left? Where's the kid's mother? Disinherited? Was the place left to these old maids? It was, wasn't it?" "What he means," interrupted Blosser, "is, do you know whether this boy would come in for any of the money if some one bought the farm?
"Miss Hope and Miss Charity are much better," answered Betty, flushing indignantly. "And now will you let me go?" "Not yet," grinned Fluss. "We haven't got this relation business all straightened out. What I want you to tell me " But Betty had seen the opportunity for which she had been waiting. Fluss had removed his hand from the bridle for an instant, and Betty pulled back on the reins.
Fluss and Blosser presented a ludicrous sight as they ran heavily, their coats flapping in the wind and their hats jammed low over their eyes. Bob did not try to catch up with them, but contented himself with shouting loudly and swishing his heavy club through the air, while he kept just close enough to their heels to warn them that it was not safe to slacken speed.
We'll give you ten thousand dollars. That's the last word. Ten thousand for this mud hole. Here's a pen sign this!" "Drop that pen!" thundered Mr. Gordon, and Miss Hope let it fall as though it had burned her fingers. "I'll give you fifteen thousand dollars," he said more gently. Fluss looked at Blosser who nodded. "Seventeen thousand," he shrieked, as though the sisters were deaf.
If it is the right farm, and they're my aunts, perhaps Betty's uncle will know where it is." He strained his ears, hoping to gather more information, but having heard of this desirable farm, Fluss and Blosser were apparently unwilling to discuss it further. In reality, had Bob only known, they were mulling the situation over in their respective minds, and Carson knew they were.
"We'd like to see," the younger man spoke crisply and consulted a small leather-bound note-book, "Miss Hope Saunders or her sister. Miss Charity. Please take her our cards." He held out the two bits of pasteboard and Betty, looking over Bob's shoulder, was astonished to read, not "Cal Blosser" and "Jack Fluss," but "Irving Snead" and "George Elmer."
Are you going to turn down a cash offer for this forsaken dump, simply because a stranger happens along and tells you there may be oil on it? Bah!" "Keep your temper," counseled Fluss in a low tone. "Well, rather than see two ladies lose a sale," he said with forced cheerfulness, "we will make you an offer of three thousand dollars. Money talks louder than fair words."
Can't be such an out-of-date town after all." The automobile was driven by a man in blue-striped overalls, and, to the surprise of Bob and Betty, Blosser and Fluss hailed him from the road. There was a minute's parley, the suitcases were tossed in, and the two men followed. The automobile turned sharply and went back along the route it had just come over.
"He is their nephew, you know." Fluss looked disgustedly at his companion. "Can you beat that?" he demanded in an undertone. "The kid has to turn up just when he isn't wanted. The old ladies never had a nephew to my knowledge, and now they allow themselves to be imposed on by " A look from Blosser restrained him.
Fluss broke in sharply. "It's very annoying not to be able to see the Misses Saunders. We've come a good many miles, thinking this place might suit one of our customers. He has a delicate daughter, and he wants to get her out on a farm. This part of Oklahoma ought to be beneficial for lung trouble. I suppose the old ladies would be willing to sell?
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