didn't know there was a vacant lot on the Boulevard, Mr. Williams."

"There isn't now, but there will be soon. I have got hold of the hundred
feet left from the old Seabury estate."

Mr. Phinney drew a long breath. "Why!" he stammered, "that's where Olive
Edwards--her that was Olive Seabury--lives, ain't it?"

"Yes," was the rather impatient answer. "She has been living there. But
the place was mortgaged up to the handle and--ahem--the mortgage is mine
now."

For an instant Simeon did not reply. He was gazing, not up the Boulevard
in the direction of the "Seabury place" but across the slope of the
hill toward the home of Captain Sol Berry, the depot master. There was a
troubled look on his face.

"Well?" inquired Williams briskly, "when can you give me the figures?
They must be low, mind. No country skin games, you understand."

"Hey?" Phinney came out of his momentary trance. "Yes, yes, Mr.
Williams. They'll be low enough. Times is kind of dull now and I'd
like a movin' job first-rate. I'll give 'em to you to-morrer. But--but
Olive'll have to move, won't she? And where's she goin'?"

"She'll have to move, sure. And the eyesore on that lot now will come
down."

The "eyesore" was the four room building, combined dwelling and shop of
Mrs. Olive Edwards, widow of "Bill Edwards," once a promising young man,