“I’ll take a dollar’s worth,” remarked Eden.
“I appeal to the young lady,” continued the real-estate man. “If that ring on the third finger of her left hand means anything, it means a wedding.” Startled, Bob Eden looked, and saw a big emerald set in platinum. “You, miss—you have vision. Suppose you two bought a lot today and held it for your—er—for future generations. Wealth, wealth untold—I’m right, ain’t I, miss?”
The girl looked away. “Perhaps you are,” she admitted. “But you’ve made a mistake. This gentleman is not my fiance.”
“Oh,” said the youth, deflating.
“I’m only a stranger, passing through,” Eden told him.
The salesman pulled himself together for a new attack. “That’s it—you’re a stranger. You don’t understand. You can’t realize that Los Angeles looked like this once.”
“It still does—to some people,” suggested Bob Eden gently.
The young man gave him a hard look. “Oh—I get you,” he said. “You’re from San Francisco.” He turned to the girl. “So this ain’t your fiance, eh, lady? Well—hearty congratulations.”
Eden laughed. “Sorry,” he said.
“I’m sorry, too,” returned the salesman. “Sorry for you, when I think of what you’re passing up. However, you may see the light yet, and if you ever do, don’t forget me. I’m here Saturdays and Sundays, and we have an office in Eldorado. Opportunity’s knocking, but of course if you’re from Frisco, you’re doing the same. Glad to have met you, anyhow.”
