"How much did you get for it, Ben?"
"It was as you say, Hiram, a thousand-to-one shot that could not have happened and never will happen again—I don't claim any credit, except in discovering it was not junk, by a little leakage through the chimes which discolored my fingers."
"I know—I know—you never claim anything," he interrupted.
"You see, we had to pay something like twenty thousand to clear the Fearsome."
"Yes, I know that."
"Well, I think there is a balance in the bank of something about forty thousand more——"
"You are joking again, Ben," he interrupted, charging over toward me, incredulous, as I took from my wallet a credit slip which he grasped and began to cavort and cut capers on the expensive carpet, much the same as he acted at the first signs of good luck, months before.
"Ben, you are a mascot—you have been one to me, anyhow—now in another month—before this deal can be closed—I can pay the railroad claim for the motor and the sawmill, and every other stiver we owe. And we'll have at least ten thousand more to bring our balance up to fifty thousand. Now, how can we raise fifty thousand more?" he asked, fairly excited—he pronounced fifty thousand as though he was used to dealing in those figures all his life—as though it was no more than the price of one of those famous beefsteaks he liked so well. He must have inherited it from the Gold-Beater—as he did the love for new, clean lumber and the lumber business. Hiram admitted he knew so little of his father that he was unaware I knew he was a Lumber King.
I took out cigars, thinking hard, and offered him one.
"No, thank you, I prefer a pipe," said he producing one at once as something he had overlooked.