beds and gravel walks, though no one but he or his might pick the
flowers or tread the walks. He had brought on a wealthy friend from New
York and a cousin from Chicago, and they, too, had bought acres on the
Boulevard and erected palatial "cottages" where once were the houses of
country people. Local cynics suggested that the sign on the East Harniss
railroad station should be changed to read "Williamsburg." "He owns the
place, body and soul," said they.

As Sim Phinney climbed the hill the magnate, pompous, portly, and
imposing, held up a signaling finger. "Just as if he was hailin' a horse
car," described Simeon afterward.

"Phinney," he said, "come here, I want to speak to you."

The man of many trades obediently approached.

"Good evenin', Mr. Williams," he ventured.

"Phinney," went on the great man briskly, "I want you to give me your
figures on a house moving deal. I have bought a house on the Shore Road,
the one that used to belong to the--er--Smalleys, I believe."

Simeon was surprised. "What, the old Smalley house?" he exclaimed. "You
don't tell me!"

"Yes, it's a fine specimen--so my wife says--of the pure Colonial,
whatever that is, and I intend moving it to the Boulevard. I want your
figures for the job."

The building mover looked puzzled. "To the Boulevard?" he said. "Why, I