“Well, thus. I have heard that Joseph desires to sell the farm.”
“And you are the cause of that, my dear Bartos.”
“I am, and I am not. Only tell me this. Does Joseph wish to sell?”
“And did you wish to buy?”
“Not I, but you, mayor, are to be the purchaser.”
“Oh! so I am to buy Loyka’s farm.”
“You, as Frank’s guardian, with Frank’s money, and for Frank. If there is not sufficient, you can advance the money, or a debt might remain on the estate. Frank is young and can economize. Besides this, he has his younger son’s portion on the estate. That would accrue.”
The mayor began to reflect. “Hum! It would accrue perhaps it might be done.”
“If only he wishes to sell?”
“That I could find out from him. I could, indeed, invite him to our house; but now, no one can entice him out of his own at any price—of which you are the cause. I could go to him myself.”
“No, no, mayor! no, no! He must send for you. We must so contrive, not that we should seem bent on buying the farm, but that Joseph should seem bent on selling it.”
“Not in vain do they call you a sapient gravedigger,” said the mayor, flatteringly.
But, frankly, my dear Bartos, I do not as yet see your drift.”
