ther offer. He'll swap my lot for the Main
Street one, pay my movin' expenses and a fair 'boot' besides. He don't
really care for my HOUSE, you understand; it's my LAND he's after."

"Are you goin' to take it up?"

"I don't know. The Main Street lot's a good one, and my house'll look
good on it. And I'll make money by the deal."

"Yes, but you've always swore by that saltwater view of yours. Told me
yourself you never wanted to live anywheres else."

Captain Sol took the cigar from his lips, looked at it, then threw it
violently into the gutter.

"What difference does it make where I live?" he snarled. "Who in blazes
cares where I live or whether I live at all?"

"Sol Berry, what on airth--"

"Shut up! Let me alone, Sim! I ain't fit company for anybody just now.
Clear out, there's a good feller."

The next moment he was striding down the hill. Mr. Phinney drew a long
breath, scratched his head and shook it solemnly. WHAT did it all mean?

CHAPTER VIII

THE OBLIGATIONS OF A GENTLEMAN

The methods of Messrs. Colt and Adams, the Boston firm of building
movers, were certainly progressive, if promptness in getting to work
is any criterion. Two days after the acceptance of their terms by Mr.
Williams, a freight car full of apparatus arrived at East Harniss. Then
came a foreman and a gang of laborers. Horses were hired, and within a
week the "pure Colonial" was off its foundations and on its way to the
Edwards lot. The moving was no light task. The big house must be brought
along the Shore Road to the junction with the Hill Boulevard, then swung
into that aristocratic highway and carried up the long slope, around the
wide curve, to its destination.

Mr. Phinney, though he hated the whole operation, those having it in
charge, and the mighty Williams especially, could not resist stealing
down to see how his successful rivals were progressing with the work
he had hoped to do. It caused him much chagrin to see that they were
getting on so very well. One morning, after breakfast, as he stood at
the corner of the Boulevard and the Shore Road, he found himself engaged
in a mental calculation.

Three days more and they would swing into the Boulevard; four or five
days after that and they would be abreast the Edwards lot. Another day
and . . . Poor Olive! She would be homeless. Where would she go? It
was too early for a reply from the Omaha cousin, but Simeon, having
questioned the minister, had little hope that