The two put up at a country hotel, which, though not luxurious, was
tolerably comfortable. After the fatigue of his journey, Ben enjoyed
a good supper and a comfortable bed. The evening, however, he spent
in the public room of the inn, where he had a chance to listen to the
conversation of a motley crowd, some of them native and residents,
others strangers who had been drawn to Centerville by the oil
discoveries.

"I tell you," said a long, lank individual, "Centerville's goin' to be
one of the smartest places in the United States. It's got a big
future before it."

"That's so," said a small, wiry man; "but I'm not so much interested
in that as I am in the question whether or not I've got a big future
before me."

"You're one of the owners of the Hoffman farm, ain't you?"

"Yes. I wish I owned the whole of it. Still, I've made nigh on to a
thousand dollars durin' the last month for my share of the profits.
Pretty fair, eh?"

"I should say so. You've got a good purchase; but there's one better
in my opinion."

"Where's that?"

"Peter Jackson's farm."

Here Ben and Mr. Taylor began to listen with interest.

"He hasn't begun to work it any, has he?"

"Not much; just enough to find out its value."

"What's he waitin' for?"

"There's some New York people want it. If he can get his price, he'll
sell it to them for a good sum down."

"What does he ask?"

"He wants fifty thousand dollars."

"Whew! that's rather stiffish. I thought the property belonged to a
lady in New York."

"So it did; but Jackson says he bought it a year ago."

"He was lucky."

Ben and Mr. Taylor looked at each other again. It was easy to see the
old farmer's game, and to understand why he was so anxious to secure
the farm, out of which he could make so large a sum of money.

"He's playing a deep game, Ben," said Taylor, when they had left the
room.

"Yes; but I think I shall be able to put a spoke in his wheel."

"I shall be curious to see how he takes it when he finds the
negotiation taken out of his hands. We'll play with him a little, as
a cat plays with a mouse."

The next morning, after a substantial breakfast, Ben and his new
friend took a walk to the farm occupied by Peter Jackson. It was
about half a mile away, and when reached gave no indication of the
wealth it was capable of producing. The farmhouse was a plain
structure nearly forty years old, badly in need of paint, and the
out-buildings harmoniz