Foolish! Just an old man dreaming . . . Holmacres . . . home of his ancestors . . . home of hospitality. . He heard the stranger’s voice again. He was speaking rapidly. “We can offer you, for all rights to the land, fifty thousand dollars.”
Fifty thousand dollars! One watching Judge Holmsted closely might have noticed a sudden throbbing of the blue veins at his temples; might have detected a slight tremor in the hand that went up, trying unconcernedly to stroke his gray goatee; might even have observed his other hand grip tightly for a moment the arm of the chair on which it rested. May be, in that brief instant, the Judge saw a dream fulfilled: broad fields fenced to pasture and dotted with sleek cattle and fat swine; bottom lands, yellow with ripening corn; barns and outhouses, as befitted a vast estate; Holmacres, with its doors once more flung wide. . . .
But whatever might have been his emotions, he gave no evidence of them, as he answered with his usual grave courtesy:
“So far as I know, gentlemen, the matter can be arranged on that basis.”
When the strangers left next morning he expressed regret that he could not accompany them to town, since urgent matters necessitated his presence on the plantation. They could leave Grover Cleveland and the buggy at the livery stable in Wynnesborough. He would send ’Lijah for them.
After they had gone he seated himself before the old rosewood secretary. Maybe he dreamed again . . . of quail hunting during the crisp months of fall . . . of fox hounds in their kennels . . . of servants. Servants?
Suddenly he drew up a sheet of paper and began writing in a firm, precise script. And when he had finished he scanned what he had written:
WANTED: Negro house servant, male, aged fifty, or thereabouts, for light work in plantation home. Must be willing to answer to the name of Elijah. Apply B. L. H. care Clarion.
