We made the river as calculated and on the second morning were fast to the dock and the much needed timber going off as fast as it went on. Although busy and most of the time reticent, Hiram, Jr., never failed to call my attention to the numerous logs and floating trees in the river, which he insisted would make good lumber, and just for the taking. I hurried to our rooms as soon as possible to get my mail.
There I found several notes of different dates from a man from New York then in New Orleans and waiting to see me about something very important. Entirely in the dark as to what he wanted, I arranged by telephone and met him at once at the Monteleon Hotel. I was disgusted. Great effort, loss of sleep and singleness of purpose to help Hiram, by cleaning up the case, made the business world appear as the full glare of a searchlight to eyes accustomed to thick darkness. It was about the barrel—he said he had come down from New York about it and exhibited one of the samples I had sent there. Bluntly, he said:
"We want the stuff and want you to put a price on it."
"But I don't want to be bothered about that stuff now." The fellow's lack of tact half angered me; his nervous eagerness undoubtedly whetted by his days of waiting for me did not fit in with my mood.
"Well—we need that color badly on Government fabric orders and if you refuse to put a price on it we may have to find another way," he said, with deliberation which, engrossed as I was, insulted me. His New England drawl grated on me somehow.
"Oh, if that is all you want, I'll name a price—you can have it for a hundred dollars a pound," I said, rising. I knew I was needed back on the Fearsome as soon as possible.
"Do you know that the pre-war price of that color was about seventy-five cents?" he quietly asked me.
"I don't know what the pre-war price was, but that is our price now," I said, walking away abruptly. I felt that I had much more important matters to consider then, and hurried down to the wharf where I supposed the Fearsome was being speedily unloaded.
Before I got within a thousand feet of where the Fearsome was I knew something was wrong. The boat was gone; Hiram Strong, Jr., sat on the end of a pile holding his head between both hands, and as I came still nearer I noted there was between Hiram's hands and head a paper folded like a legal document.