VERY GINGERLY HE DONNED THE GARMENTS AND FOR SOME MOMENTS STOOD AND VIEWED HIMSELF IN THE MIRROR.
Promptly at eleven o'clock, one week from the day he arrived in Minneapolis, Connie Morgan again presented himself at the office of the Syndicate. That he had been expected was evidenced by the fact that the girl at the switchboard did not ask him any questions. She greeted him by name, and touching a button beneath the edge of her desk summoned a boy who conducted him to Metzger's private office. The lumber magnate received him with an oily smile: "Promptly on the minute," he approved. "That's business. Sit here and we will see whether two business men are able to make their minds meet in a contract that will be profitable to both." The man placed the points of his fingers together and sighted across them at Connie. "In the first place," he began, "the quantity of logs. You are sure you can deliver here at our mills at least eight million feet?"
"Yes."
"Because," continued the man, "owing to the conditions of a contract we have on hand, any less than eight million feet would be practically of no value to us whatever. That is, we have concluded to rely entirely upon your logs to fulfill our big contract, and should you fail us, the other contract would fail, and we would be at the expense of marketing the lumber elsewhere."
"How much more than eight million feet could you use?" asked the boy.
"As much more as you can deliver. Say, anything up to ten million."
Connie nodded: "That's all right," he assented, "and the price?"
"Ah, yes—the price." Metzger frowned thoughtfully. "What would you say to twenty dollars a thousand?"
Connie shook his head. "I can get twenty-five anywhere."
"Well, twenty-five?"