HE LEANED BACK IN HIS CHAIR AND STARED AT CONNIE THROUGH HIS GLASSES, AS ONE WOULD EXAMINE A SPECIMEN AT THE ZOO.
"Young man, how do I know you have any logs?" the question rasped suddenly from between half-closed lips.
"You don't know it," answered the boy. "That's why I came here to tell you."
"White pine, you said," snapped the man, after a pause. "Eight million feet?"
"Yes, white pine—at least eight million, maybe nine, and possibly more, if we continue to have good luck."
"Where are these logs?"
"On our landings on Dogfish River."
"Dogfish! You're the man from Alaska that bought the McClusky tract?"