"We are starting to build our mill. It will be the largest in America, with the most modern machinery. Now we're looking about for somebody to supply us spruce cut to the proper length for pulpwood. You own considerable spruce, do you not?"
"Calc'late to have title to a tree or two."
"Good. I came up to find out if you are in a position to swing a rather big contract—to deliver us at the mill a minimum of twenty-five thousand cords of pulpwood?"
"Depends," said Scattergood.
Mr. Blossom drew a jackknife from his pocket and began leisurely to sharpen a pencil. It was a rather battered jackknife, and Scattergood noticed that one blade had been broken off. He stretched out his hand. "Jackknife's kind of lame, hain't it? Don't 'pear to be as stylish as the rest of you?"
"It is a bit dilapidated."
"Got some good ones inside. Fine line of jackknives. Only carry the best. Show 'em to you."
He lifted himself out of the groaning chair and went into the store, to return with a dozen or more knives, which he showed to Mr. Blossom, and Mr. Blossom looked at them gravely. He was smiling to himself. A man who could interrupt a deal involving upward of a hundred thousand dollars to try to sell a jackknife certainly was not of a caliber to give serious worry to an astute business man.
"Recommend the pearl-handled one," said Scattergood. "Two dollars 'n' a half."
"I'll take it," said Mr. Blossom, and he stuck his old knife in a post, replacing it in his pocket with the new purchase.