“It is for me—about the bulliest fun I ever had in my life,” said young Kent. “I never played a game I liked as well.”
Mr. Ackerman shook his head sadly. The young man was hopeless. “I suppose,” he said casually, as he rose to go, “that in the event of a syndicate offering you a fair price for the whole concern, lock, stock, and barrel, you wouldn’t sell?”
“No, I don’t think so,” Joe replied.
“Ah, well, youth is ever sanguine,” said Mr. Ackerman. “Your energy and confidence do you credit, Mr. Kent, though I’m rather sorry you won’t entertain the company idea. We could make this a very big business on that basis. Perhaps, later, you may come around to it. Anyway, I wish you luck. If I can assist you in any way at any time just let me know. Good morning. Good morning! Remember, in any way, at any time.”
Joe, from his favourite position at the window, saw Mr. Ackerman emerge from the building and begin his dignified progress down the street.
“I didn’t like his stock proposition,” he thought, “but I guess he isn’t a bad old sport at bottom. Seems to mean well. I’m sorry I was rude to him.”
Just then Mr. Ackerman, looking up, caught his eye. Joe waved a careless, friendly hand. Mr. Ackerman so far forgot his dignity as to return the friendly salute, and smiled upward benignantly.
“The damned young pup!” said Mr. Ackerman behind his smile.
III
William Crooks, the old lumberman who had been the friend of the elder Kent, was big and broad and burly, and before the years had silvered his mane it was as red as any danger flag that ever wagged athwart steel rails. He held strong opinions, he used strong language, he was swift to anger, he feared no man on earth, and he knew the logging business from stump to market.