"And, your business?"
"I want to see Heinie Metzger about some logs."
A man passing the little gate in the railing whirled and glared at him. He was a very disagreeable looking young man with a fat, heavy face, pouchy eyes of faded blue, and stiff, close-cropped reddish hair that stuck straight up on his head like pig's bristles. "Looks like he'd been scrubbed," thought Connie as he returned glare for glare. The man stepped through the gate and thrust his face close to the boy's.
"Vat you mean, eh?"
"Are you Heinie Metzger?"
"No, I am not Herr Metzger. Unt it pays you you shall be civil to your betters. You shall say Herr Metzger, oder Mister Metzger. Unt he has got not any time to be mit poys talking. Vat you vanted? If you got pusiness, talk mit me. I am Herr von Kuhlmann, confidential secretary to Herr Metzger."
"I thought you were the barber," apologized the boy. "But anyhow, you won't do. I want to see Heinie Metzger, or 'hair' Metzger, or Mister Metzger, whichever way you want it. I want to sell him some logs."
The other sneered: "Logs! He wants to sell it some logs! Unt how much logs you got—on de vagon a load, maybe? Ve dondt fool mit logs here, exceptingly ve get anyhow a trainload—unt Herr Metzger dondt mention efen, less dan half a million feets. Vere iss your logs?"
"I've got 'em in my pocket," answered the boy. "Come on, Dutchy, you're wasting my time. Trot along, now; and tell this Metzger there's a fellow out here that's got about eight or nine million feet of white pine to sell——"