David picked up a stick, opened his knife, and began to whittle
thoughtfully, a familiar squint of reflection in his face. I suppose
he thought of all it had cost him - the toil of many years, the
strength of his young manhood, the youth and beauty of his wife, a
hundred things that were far better than money.
'Fifteen thousan' dollars,' he said slowly - 'not a cent less.' The man
parleyed a little over the price.
'Don' care t' take any less t'day,' said David calmly. 'No harm done.'
'How much down?'
David named the sum.
'An' possession?'
'Next week'
'Everything as it stan's?'
'Everything as it stan's 'cept the beds an' bedding.'
'Here's some money on account,' he said. 'We'll close t'morrer?'
'Close t'morrer,' said David, a little sadness in his tone, as he took
the money.
It was growing dusk as the man went away. The crickets sang with
a loud, accusing, clamour. Slowly we turned and went into the
dark house, David whistling under his breath. Elizabeth was
resting in her chair.
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