"You feel this?"
"I know it."
The conviction in his voice was so impressive that the bishop paused. "Well, Mr. Clark," he said after a moment, "like others I must thank you for having made a remarkable improvement in our physical comfort. Even my friend Fisette down there,"—he pointed to the halfbreed's cabin that lay between the See House and the river—"even my friend Fisette has electric light in his house."
"Ah! Is that where Fisette lives?"
"You know him?"
"He works for me."
"Then he's like most of my friends in St. Marys. The pulp mills are doing well?"
"Their capacity will shortly be doubled."
The bishop nodded and scanned the keen face with renewed interest. "I have heard it stated that the measure of a country's industrial progress depends largely on the degree to which it produces steel and iron. Now I'm no student of economics, but the assertion seems reasonable. Your countrymen across Lake Superior have, I know, enormous deposits, and of course there's not a question as to their industrial progress, but so far as I have ascertained there are none in this region. I assume that you have considered the matter and I would be interested to know your opinion."
"I have reason to believe," answered Clark, staring fixedly at Fisette's vine-grown cabin, "that large deposits do exist within a reasonable distance of St. Marys. You will understand, of course, that this is not an official statement, and I would be obliged if you would not repeat it. I offer it," he added with a glance of calm sincerity, "to reinforce my undertakings in your eyes. Your economic contention is perfectly sound."