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 that reply would be favorable.  Still it was a chance, and if the money should come before the “pure Colonial” reached the Edwards lot, then the widow would at least not be driven penniless from her home.  She would have to leave that home in any event, but she could carry out her project of opening another shop in one of the neighboring towns.  Otherwise . . .  Mr. Phinney swore aloud.

“Humph!” said a voice behind him.  “I agree with you, though I don’t know what it’s all about.  I ain’t heard anything better put for a long while.”

Simeon spun around, as he said afterwards, “like a young one’s pinwheel.”  At his elbow stood Captain Berry, the depot master, hands in pockets, cigar in mouth, the personification of calmness and imperturbability.  He had come out of his house, which stood close to the corner, and walked over to join his friend.

“Land of love!” exclaimed Simeon.  “Why don’t you scare a fellow to death, tiptoein’ around?  I never see such a cat-foot critter!”

Captain Sol smiled.  “Jumpin’ it, ain’t they?” he said, nodding toward the “Colonial.”  “Be there by the tenth, won’t it?”

“Tenth!” Mr. Phinney sniffed disgust.  “It’ll be there by the sixth, or I miss my guess.”

“Yup.  Say, Sim, how soon could you land that shanty of mine in the road if I give you the job to move it?”

“I couldn’t get it up to the Main Street lot inside of a fortnight,” replied Sim, after a moment’s reflection.  “Fur’s gettin’ it in the road goes, I could have it here day after to-morrow if I had gang enough.”

The depot master took the cigar out of his mouth and blew a ring of smoke.  “All right,” he drawled, “get gang enough.”

Phinney jumped.  “You mean you’ve decided to take up with Payne’s offer and swap your lot for his?” he gasped.  “Why, only two or three days ago you said—­”

“Ya-as.  That was two or three days ago, and I’ve been watchin’ the ‘Colonial’ since.  I cal’late the movin’ habit’s catchin’.  You have your gang here by noon to-day.”

“Sol Berry, are you crazy?  You ain’t seen Abner Payne; he’s out of town—­”

“Don’t have to see him.  He’s made me an offer and I’ll write and accept it.”