"In the winter," Lewis replied, "there is very little stir in timber."
"There is going to be some sort of stir in this timber before long," Hollister said.
The worried expression deepened on Mr. Lewis' face.
"The fact is," Hollister continued evenly, "I made a rough survey of that timber, and found it away off color. You represented it to contain so many million feet. It doesn't. Nowhere near. I appear to have been rather badly stung, and I really don't wonder it hasn't been resold. What do you propose to do about this?"
Mr. Lewis made a gesture of deprecation.
"There must be some mistake, Mr. Hollister."
"No doubt of that," Hollister agreed dryly. "The point is, who shall pay for the mistake?"
Mr. Lewis looked out of the window. He seemed suddenly to be stricken with an attitude of remoteness. It occurred to Hollister that the man was not thinking about the matter at all.
"Well?" he questioned sharply.