Back in Arthur’s office, I strove to look nonchalant as he filled out an ‘offer to purchase’ form on the farmland on South Mountain, hoping like crazy that he hadn’t quoted me the wrong price. He finally passed me the paper and said, “Check this to make sure it’s in order.” Arthur had made a mistake. The purchase price on the form was thirteen hundred, not thirteen thousand. I ventured a condescending chuckle and handed it back to him saying, “Arthur, you wrote thirteen hundred.”
He sat there for a moment staring at me, seeming really miffed. Then he slammed his fist on the desk and, in the loudest voice he had used all day, declared, “I’m sorry, Mr. Leeson.” I’d been plain Garry up until then. “The price is firm. It’s thirteen hundred and not a cent less.” Then, even louder, he shouted, “There is no room for negotiation!” So I wrote a cheque for the full amount and have never regretted it.
We purchased our little slice of heaven for the tidy sum of thirteen hundred dollars . . . and were only slightly taken aback when our new neighbours informed us that they could have got it for eight hundred.
Oh well, you win some, you lose some.