ing?"

"Yes, suh, several. One man's been there some time. Says his name's
Busson, suh."

"Send him in."

The man gave his head a tilt forward which seemed to close his eyes,
turned pivotally about, and walked out of the room in his most luxurious
manner. Rufus never imitated his employer, but he often regretted that
his employer did not imitate him.

Mr. Anthony's face resumed its look of prosperous annoyance. The door
opened, and a small, roughly dressed man came toward the desk.

"Well, here I am at last," he said in a tone of gentle apology; "I
suppose you think it's about time."

The annoyance faded out of Mr. Anthony's face, and left it blank. The
visitor put out a work-callous hand.

"I guess you don't remember me; my name's Burson. I was up once before,
but you were busy. I hope you're well; you look hearty."

Mr. Anthony shook the proffered hand, and then shrank back, with the
distrust of geniality which is one of the cruel hardships of wealth.

"I am well, thank you. What can I do for you, Mr. Burson?"

The little man sat down and wiped the back of his neck with his
handkerchief. He was bearded almost to the eyes, and his bushy brows
stood out in a thatch. As he bent his gaze upon Mr. Anthony it was like
some gentle creature peering out of a brushy covert.

"I guess the question's what I can do for you, Mr. Anthony," he said,
smiling wistfully on the millionaire; "I hain't done much this far,
sure."

"Well?" Mr. Anthony's voice was dryly interrogative.

"When Edmonson told me he'd sold the mortgage to you, I thought certain
I'd be able to keep up the interest, but I haven't made out to do even
that; you've been kept out of your money a long time, and to tell the
truth I don't see much chance for you to get it. I thought I'd come in
and talk with you about it, and see what we could agree on."

Mr. Anthony leaned back rather wearily.

"I might foreclose," he said.

The visitor looked troubled. "Yes, you could foreclose, but that
wouldn't fix it up. To tell the truth, Mr. Anthony, I don't feel right
about it. I haven't kep' up the place as I'd ought; it's been running
down for more'n a year. I don't believe it's worth the mortgage to-day."

Some of the weariness disappeared from Mr. Anthony's face. He laid his
arms on the desk and leaned forward.

"You don't think it's worth the mortgage?" he asked.

"Not the mortgage and interest. You see there's over three hundred
dollars interest due. I