“Yes,” Joe admitted, “but——”
“No ‘buts’ about it,” Clancy cut him short again. “Don’t tell me ye can’t get cars. I know better. That gag don’t work no more. I’ll have yeez people to understand that when we order lumber we want lumber an’ not excuses. Th’ contract calls for——”
“I know quite well what it calls for,” Joe interrupted in his turn. “If you think you’ve got a kick, come up to the office and make it.” And he slammed the receiver back on the hook viciously.
Half an hour afterward Wright ushered in the brothers Clancy. Finn Clancy fulfilled the promise of his telephone voice. He stood over six feet; he was broad, deep-chested, and red-bearded, with a pair of bright blue eyes hard as polished steel. John Clancy was small, dark, and wizened, and his mouth was a straight slit, tucked in at the corners.
“This is Mr. Kent,” said Wright.
The brothers stared at Joe for a moment.
“So ut was you I was talkin’ to?” growled Finn Clancy belligerently.
“It was,” said Joe shortly, but, realizing the advisability of holding his temper, he added: “Sit down, gentlemen.”
They sat down. Finn heavily; John cautiously.
“Now about the lumber,” Joe began. “We’ve been delayed one way and another, but we’ll ship it in a day or two.”