How he worried! He’d worried every step of the way, over even the smallest decision, over every cent he’d put out. It would be a miracle if he came out of this without an ulcer.
But if things worked out he’d be a millionaire, actually a millionaire. The stake was worth the grief. If things went wrong, he was through. Everything he had and could raise was in this venture.
He said, “Sam, it’s been raining a while now. Look there, at that wash coming along that little gully. Look beyond it, there’s another one, and another one. Look there, at that brook. Notice how wide and rapid it’s become? This is a flood basin, Sam.”
Tuttle nodded comprehendingly. “Thought it was something like that.”
“Ninety-five percent of the year this area’s all right. The rest of the time it’s flooded. You can’t put a house on this property. The rains hit the hills, miles of them, and they all drain into this basin. Looks like Niagara Falls when the run-off is heavy. Flash floods hit every now and then.”
Tuttle swivelled to face Cummins. “Hadn’t we better get out of here then? I’ve read about these flash floods. Read where only a little while back a fellow in a car was swept off a road and drowned.”
“Relax,” said Cummins. “I know this property. There’s a little ridge crossing it from the road, no more than fifty feet wide at best. It’s the only ground that never gets flooded. You could hardly tell, but we’re standing on it now. We’re safe enough. There’s even an old shack the surveyors have been using not far along the ridge.”
“All right.” Tuttle’s sharp face went thoughtful. “So what are you asking for one of your damp-dry eighth-acre plots?”
“One hundred dollars.”
Tuttle nodded. “Doesn’t sound like much. Let’s see, two-thousand acres at eight-hundred an acre...” He whistled softly. “Better than a million and a half dollars!”
“Don’t forget the streets, Sam.”
“O.K. Subtract the streets. Subtract your land investment and all your expenses. Subtract say two-hundred thousand give or take fifty all told. You’re still way over a million.”
Cummins said, “And capital gains taxes?”
“You ought to still clear over a million.”
Cummins again repressed his irritation with Tuttle. He lit a cigar. “You through figuring my deal, Sam?”
“Yes, I’m through. And in answer to your implied question, yes I’m interested. I don’t foresee trouble. It’s not too much of a swindle.”
“No swindle, Sam,” said Cummins slowly. “The customer gets the land. Maybe it’s a little shock when he finds out he can’t build on it, but he still owns the land. He’s only put a hundred dollars in it. He can pitch a tent in nice weather and go hunting or fishing. He can talk about his Florida property. Maybe some day a flood-control job will happen around here, and then the property will really be valuable.”
Tuttle snorted. “Flood control! I wouldn’t want to hold my breath until. But it’s not too bad a swindle, Sheldon. What do you want me to do?”
The rain turned abruptly into a heavy cascade that gushed through the foliage that had been sheltering them. “We’ll be drenched!” yelled Tuttle. “Let’s get back to the car.”
“Too far in this rain. The shack’s a lot closer. Come on.”
The two men pounded along the ridge, the hissing torrent driving through their rain-coats in seconds. The shack showed up, and Cummins fiddled with the lock and they burst in.
The shack had once been used as a dwelling and contained several rooms in one of which the surveyors had stored some equipment. The floors sagged and were covered with dust, dried mud and woods debris, and the walls leaned, but the roof still managed to shed water, and the men took off their wet coats and hung them on a couple of the nails that bristled from the walls. They were silent a while, listening to the fury of the downpour, strumming on the roof shingles as it swept across, slapping at the crusted window panes and leaving flowing streams of water that obscured the outside.
“We’re liable to see some flooding before this is over,” said Cummins. “But, to go on with our business, all I want from you, Sam, is a good press, and I mean nationwide. Most of this land is going to be sold mail-order. Sure, some buyers will come in person, but the odds are they’ll see the property at its best, and for a hundred dollar investment they won’t be doing much investigating. Mainly, it’s the advertising campaign that’ll be doing the selling, so it’s got to be topflight, and believe me, it is. It’s wrapped up now, all set to go, waiting for the word from me. We ran a couple of test ads, and the percentage was pretty.
“But advertising needs support to gain public confidence. You know how it is, Mr. Doakes reads our ad and sits there dreaming how phenomenal the offer is, if he could believe it. Then he starts forgetting it, and turns some pages, and surprise, right before his eyes is a dignified little news article on our beautiful development. That does it. Doakes has learned to trust us. He digs for his money. That’s where you come in, Sam. I want those dignified little articles.”
“Can do,” said Tuttle. “How much?”
“Five thousand now, two payments of ten thousand each as the work progresses.”
“Not enough.” Tuttle’s reaction was automatic. “That’s only twenty-five thousand. I’ll take fifty.”
Cummins glared. “Don’t try to hold me up, Tuttle. The job’s not worth that much. It’s no sweat for you and I know it. I’m offering you more than enough.”
“A job with a smell costs more. Let’s hear another offer.”
Cummins resentment began to boil. Tuttle was a nasty little profiteer and a wise-guy to boot. If there were any handy alternative he’d tell him off. He needed Tuttle all right, but he didn’t appreciate being black-jacked, and maybe someday he could return the favor. Meanwhile, he forced himself to dissemble.
The bickering went on, seeming as endless almost as the hard driving rain, but at last they agreed on a figure of thirty-seven thousand. When it was settled, they grew impatient to get back to Cummins’ car, but the rain refused to let up, so they waited, until finally there came an abrupt cessation of its violence. Through the windows they saw the sky lighten a very little, and the sound outside changed to a delicate unsteady patter. They were donning their raincoats when the new sound began.
“My God!” said Tuttle. “What’s that?”
It was a far-off roar that rushed rapidly and irresistibly, swelling as it came until it had grown to a frightening thunder that seemed to submerge and surround them, holding interminably, finally to lessen to a huge rustling.
Cummins watched Tuttle’s paling face maliciously. He didn’t feel too comfortable himself, but it was good to watch the man fighting against panic. “Flash flood,” he explained at last.
“Well then, let’s get the hell out of here! What are we waiting for?”
“According to my information this ridge has never been under water. This shack’s been standing here a good fifty years, so we should be all right. Let’s take a look.”
The men went out, took a few steps and halted. The narrow strip of dry land which was the ridge still meandered before them, but everything else on either side was under water. It was as though they were standing within a restless lake across the surface of which white, foaming streams still rushed down from the heights.
“My God,” repeated Tuttle. “And this is what you’re selling! What makes it come so fast?”