Ben was dazzled.  If he could effect a sale at this price he would be doing a splendid stroke of business, and would effectually defeat the plans of Mr. Jackson, who, it appeared, had pretended that he was the owner of the farm, hoping to obtain it from Mrs. Hamilton at a valuation which would have been suitable before the discovery of oil, but now would be ludicrously disproportionate to its real value.

“Shall or shall I not, tell this gentleman the truth?” he reflected.

He thought over the matter and decided to do so.  The discovery must be made sooner or later, and there would be no advantage in delay.

“I don’t think Jackson will sell,” he said.

“Why not?” asked the stranger, in surprise.  “Do you know him?”

“I never saw him in my life.”

“Then how can you form any opinion on the subject?”

Ben smiled.

“The answer is easy enough,” he said.  “Mr. Jackson can’t sell what he doesn’t own.”

“Do you mean to say that he is not the owner of the farm which he proposes to sell us?”

“That is just what I mean.  He is no more the owner than you or I.”

“You speak confidently, young man.  Perhaps you can tell me who is the owner?”

“I can.  The owner is Mrs. Hamilton, of New York.”

“Indeed!  That is a genuine surprise.  Can you give me her address?  I should like to communicate with her.”

“I will cheerfully give you her address, but it won’t be necessary, for I represent her.”

“You!” exclaimed the stranger incredulously.

“Yes; and I am going out to Centerville now as her agent.  This Jackson, who is her tenant, has been urging her to sell him the farm for some time.  He has offered a sum larger than the farm would be worth but for the discovery of petroleum, but has taken good care not to speak of this.”

“How much does he offer?”

“Five thousand dollars.”

“The rascal!” He offers five thousand, and expects us to pay him fifty thousand dollars for his bargain.  What an unmitigated swindle it would have been if he had carried out his scheme!”

“Perhaps you would like to see his last letter?” said Ben.

“I should.  I want to see what the old rascal has to say for himself.”

Ben took from his pocket the letter in question, and put it into the hands of his new acquaintance.

It was dated at Centerville, October 21.  It was written in a cramped hand, showing that the farmer was not accustomed to letter-writing.

It ran thus: 

“Respected Madam: 

“As I have already wrote you, I would like to buy the farm, and will give you more than anybody else, because I am used to living on it, and it seems like home.  I am willing to pay five thousand dollars, though I know it is only worth four, but it is worth more to me than to others.  I offer you more because I know you are rich, and will not sell unless you get a good bargain.  Please answer right away.

“Yours respectfully,
Peter Jackson.