“Don’t see no harm in it,” said Mr. Tidd.
“How about you, Mr. Bugg?”
“Anythin’ suits me,” says Silas.
“You’ll keep on workin’,” says Mark, “and helpin’ to look after the manufacturin’. We’ll look after the b-business end, and help with the m-m-manufacturin’ end, too. Eh? How’s that?”
“First class,” says Silas.
“We’ll start in to-morrow,” says Mark. “You fellows be on hand. Whistle she b-blows at seven. We’ll git down and f-f-figger things out and then we’ll start to work. We hain’t never run a mill,” he says, all enthusiastic and worked up.
“No,” says I, “we hain’t, nor a circus, nor a airyplane, nor a merry-go-round.”
“But we kin,” says he.
That was Mark Tidd all over. We kin, he says, and that was what he meant. Folks did run mills and make money, and if they could, why, he could, too. He was that confident in himself that he made you confident in him, too. And another thing, when he started in on a job he’d stick to it. Nothing would discourage him, and if there was any way of pulling it off he would do it, and you could bet your last dollar on it.
“All right,” says he, “that’s s-s-settled. We’ll see you at s-s-seven, Mr. Bugg.”