improvements. And he would do it yet. He was straining every effort for the day when he could buy the adjoining lot and put up another two-story frame building. The upstairs he could rent, and the whole ground-floor of both buildings would be Higginbotham's Cash Store. His eyes glistened when he spoke of the new sign that would stretch clear across both buildings.
Martin forgot to listen. The refrain of "Work performed," in his own brain, was drowning the other's clatter. The refrain maddened him, and he tried to escape from it.
"How much did you say it would cost?" he asked suddenly.
His brother-in-law paused in the middle of an expatiation on the business opportunities of the neighborhood. He hadn't said how much it would cost. But he knew. He had figured it out a score of times.
"At the way lumber is now," he said, "four thousand could do it."
"Including the sign?"
"I didn't count on that. It'd just have to come, onc't the buildin' was there."
"And the ground?"
"Three thousand more."
He leaned forward, licking his lips, nervously spreading and closing his fingers, while he watched Martin write a check. When it was passed over to him, he glanced at the amount-seven thousand dollars.
"I—I can't afford to pay more than six per cent," he said huskily.
Martin wanted to laugh, but, instead, demanded:—
"How much would that be?"
"Lemme see. Six per cent—six times seven—four hundred an' twenty."
"That would be thirty-five dollars a month, wouldn't it?"
Higginbotham nodded.
"Then, if you've no objection, we'll arrange it this way." Martin glanced at Gertrude. "You can have the
