"You couldn't get it, ma'am. That's a fancy price."

"What rent would you charge in case we sold it to you, Mr. Tripp,"

asked Chester.

"Well, say five dollars a month."

"About sixteen or seventeen per cent. on the purchase money."

"Well, I'd have to pay taxes and repairs," explained Tripp.

"I don't care to sell, Mr. Tripp," said Mrs. Rand, decisively.

"You may have to, ma'am."

"If we do we shall try to get somewhere near its real value."

"Just as you like, ma'am," said Silas, disappointed. "I'd pay you cash down."

"If I decide to sell on your terms I'll let you know," said Mrs. Rand.

"Oh, well, I ain't set upon it. I only wanted to do you a favor."

"We appreciate your kindness," said Mrs. Rand, dryly.

"Women don't know much about business," muttered Silas, as he plodded home, disappointed.

CHAPTER VI.

ROBERT RAMSAY.

Mrs. Rand was as much amazed as Chester himself at his success as an artist.

"How long were you in making the drawing?" she asked.

"Twenty minutes."

"And you received ten dollars. It doesn't seem possible."

"I wish I could work twenty minutes every week at that rate," laughed Chester. "It would pay me better than working for Silas Tripp."

"Perhaps you can get some more work of the same kind?"

"I shall send two more sketches to Mr. Conrad in a day or two. I shall take pains and do my best."

Two days later Chester sent on the sketches, and then set about trying to find a job of some kind in the village. He heard of only one.

An elderly farmer, Job Dexter, offered him a dollar a week and board if he would work for him. He would have eight cows to milk morning and night, the care of the barn, and a mult.i.tude of "ch.o.r.es" to attend to.

"How much will you give me if I board at home, Mr. Dexter?" asked Chester.

"I must have you in the house. I can't have you trapesing home when you ought to be at work."

"Then I don't think I can come, Mr. Dexter. A dollar a week wouldn't pay me."

"A dollar a week and board is good pay for a boy," said the farmer.

"It may be for some boys, but not for me."

Chester reflected that if he worked all day at the farmer's he could not do any artistic work, and so would lose much more than he made. The sketch sold by Mr. Conrad brought him in as much as he would receive in ten weeks from Farmer Dexter.

"Wyncombe people don't seem very liberal, mother," said Chester. "I thought Mr. Tripp pretty close, but Job Dexter beats him."

In the meantime he met Abel Wood carrying groceries to a family in the village.

"Have you got a place yet, Chester?" he asked.

"No; but I have a chance of one."

"Where?"

"At Farmer Dexter's."

"Don't you go! I worked for him once."

"How did you like it?"

"It almost killed me. I had to get up at half past four, work till seven in the evening, and all for a dollar a week and board."

"Was the board good?" inquired Chester, curiously.

"It was the poorest livin' I ever had. Mrs. Dexter don't know much about cookin'. We had baked beans for dinner three times a week, because they were cheap, and what was left was put on for breakfast the next mornin'."

"I like baked beans."

"You wouldn't like them as Mrs. Dexter cooked them, and you wouldn't want them for six meals a week."

"No, I don't think I should," said Chester, smiling. "How do you get along with Silas Tripp?"

"He's always scoldin'; he says I am not half as smart as you."

"I am much obliged to Mr. Tripp for his favorable opinion, but he didn't think enough of me to give me decent pay."

"He's awful mean. He's talkin' of reducin' me to two dollars a week. He says business is very poor, and he isn't makin' any money."

"I wish you and I were making half as much as he."