CONNIE PLACED HIS HAND AFFECTIONATELY UPON THE ARM OF THE BIG BOSS WHO STOOD AT HIS SIDE GRINNING BROADLY.
Connie placed his hand affectionately upon the arm of the big boss who stood at his side grinning broadly: "This is Jake Hurley—my foreman," he announced, and then to the boss: "The old one is Heinie Metzger, and the shaky one's von Kuhlmann."
"But," faltered von Kuhlmann—"there iss some mistake! Hurley I haff seen—I know him. I say he iss not Hurley! There iss a mistake!"
"Yes, there's a mistake all right—and you made it," laughed the boy. "And it's a mistake that cost your boss, there, dearly. The man you have been dealing with was not Hurley at all. He passed himself off for Hurley, and last year he got away with it. Your game is up—you crooks! The three million feet that Slue Foot Magee, alias Hurley, branded with your disappearing paint, have all been repainted with good, honest, waterproof paint—and, here they come!" As the boy spoke, a log scraped along the sheer-boom, and for a moment all eyes rested upon the red block-and-ball, then instantly lifted to the thousands of logs that followed it.
Several days later when the boom scale had been verified, Connie again presented himself at the office of the Syndicate and was shown immediately to Metzger's private room. The magnate received him with deference, even placing a chair for him with his own hands. "I hardly know how to begin, Herr Morgan——"
"Connie Morgan," snapped the boy. "And as far as I can see you can begin by dating a check for four hundred and forty-eight thousand, three hundred and twenty dollars—and then you can finish by signing it, and handing it over."
"But, my dear young man, the price is exorbitant—my stockholders in Germany—they will not understand. It will be my ruin."
"Why did you agree to it then? Why did you sign the contract?"