Mr. Stanley Ackerman rose and held out his hand, a smile, tolerant and forgiving, illuminating a countenance which, to tell the truth, was somewhat red.
“I’d rather not, thanks,” said Joe, looking at the hand. His tone was so thoroughly contemptuous that Mr. Ackerman’s beautiful smile vanished.
“All right, then, young man,” he snapped. “This is the last offer you’ll get from me. And in future you need expect no consideration from any institution with which I am identified. Go ahead and run your own little business, and see what happens.”
Joe brightened instantly.
“That’s better talk—and I believe you are telling the truth for once,” he said cheerfully. “That’s precisely what I’m going to do.”
Mr. Ackerman’s lips opened in a further remark; but thinking better of it he shut them again and left the office, wearing his dignity about him as a mantle. He brushed past Wright in the hall, and the latter whistled his astonishment, for the highly respectable and usually unperturbed twin brother of Capital was swearing through his teeth in a way that would have increased the reputation of any drunken pirate who ever infested the Florida Keys.
VIII
The year drew into September, time of goldenrod, browning grasses, crisp, clear mornings and hazy, dreamy days. The shanty lads began to straggle back to town from little backwoods farms where they had spent the summer loafing or increasing the size of the clearings, from mills, from out-of-the-way holes and corners. They haunted the lumber companies’ offices looking for jobs. There things began to hum with the bustle of preparation and owners held long consultations with walking bosses and laid plans for the winter’s campaign.
Kent’s tender for the choice Wind River limits was accepted, somewhat to his surprise and to Crooks’s profane amazement. The latter, through the good offices of a middleman working for his rake-off, secured the limits on Rat Lake. Remained the question of how the logs should be cut, and when.
Joe, after taking counsel with Crooks, Wright, and Locke, decided on his course. That winter he would make a supreme effort to cut every stick he could, and sell them in the drive, retaining only enough logs to run his mill on half time or a little better. This seemed the only thing to do. Locke had been unable to push his complaint anent the freight rate to a hearing before the commission.