"My fishermen know the coast for one thing," she began. "That's a whole lot around here. It's a treacherous shore-line and a man who doesn't know it can lose a boat mighty easy. Then, I have ten new boats, just the kind you have to have for albacore and tuna. As a general rule you've got to go way out to sea to get them. Sometimes as far as Diablo. And that means trouble. If you've ever been out to that God-forsaken island you'll understand that it takes real men and boats. I have both."
Gregory said nothing, but waited for the girl to finish:
"I know my game," she concluded, with no spirit of bravado, but merely as if it was only a plain statement of fact. "My men are used to holding their own against Mascola. And I can tell you that is worth a lot."
Gregory nodded. Then he said quietly:
"Your father was never able to supply mine with enough fish to keep this cannery going. Isn't that right?"
Dickie Lang was forced to admit the truth of the statement. Then she qualified: "He hadn't had the big boats but a few months and they had a run of bad luck from the start."
Gregory considered her words carefully.
"Would you be willing to enter into a contract with me to keep the cannery supplied with fish?" he
asked, watching her closely. For the first time he saw her show signs of receding from her original position.
Dickie Lang hesitated. Her fear of legal entanglements was hereditary. Bill Lang had settled his differences out of court and had warned his daughter on more than one occasion of the dangers which lurked in a contract. She shook her head. What did she know of this man, save the fact that he bore his father's name?