“I suppose if I agreed to sell you that quarter-section of timber in the little valley over yonder” (he pointed to the east) “and the natural outlet for your Squaw Creek timber, you'd quickly think of one,” Bryce suggested pointedly.
“No, I am not in the market for that Valley of the Giants, as your idealistic father prefers to call it. Once I would have purchased it for double its value, but at present I am not interested.”
“Nevertheless it would be an advantage for you to possess it.”
“My dear boy, the possession of that big timber is an advantage I expect to enjoy before I acquire many more gray hairs. But I do not expect to pay for it.”
“Do you expect me to offer it to you as a bonus for renewing our hauling contract?”
The Colonel snapped his fingers. “By George,” he declared, “that's a bright idea, and a few months ago I would have been inclined to consider it very seriously. But now—”
“You figure you've got us winging, eh?” Bryce was smiling pleasantly.
“I am making no admissions,” Pennington responded enigmatically “—nor any hauling contracts for my neighbour's logs,” he added.
“You may change your mind.”
“Never.”