“That’s my business!” Burnam snapped.
“Mine, too. You’re forgetting that all my money is tied up in this outfit. It was supposed to be a good investment.”
“Well, ain’t you getting ten per cent. on it?” Burnam demanded.
“Yes—so far. But will I ever get the principal back?”
Burnam gave him a furious glance. For a moment Joe expected one of the turpentine man’s famous explosions of rage; but then Burnam leaned back in his seat, took off his hat and put it on the table, and grinned.
“I don’t blame you much for being worried, Joe,” he said. “You can bet that I’m worried myself. But I’ll pull through. I’m going to turpentine the river orchard.”
“All right,” said Joe, surprised and relieved. “Do you want me to ride it?”
“Sure. I hadn’t intended to turpentine that tract, but now I’ve got to. I was looking over it this morning, and there’s right smart of good pine there.”
“All right,” said Joe. “I’ll do the best I can—I’ll work like any nigger—for myself as well as for you.”
“I reckon you’ll pull us through, then,” returned Burnam, with some dryness. “You were fixing to take a few days off now, I think.”