“Getting most of it up at Manistee.”
“Got it in yet?”
“More'n half of it. The rest of it's a late order.”
“How much is there to come?”
“About fifty thousand.”
“How's it delivered?”
“F. O. B. on the dock here. Why, you looking for a job?”
“Yes, wouldn't mind. I could get it down here cheaper'n the railroad, and pretty near as quick.”
“Navigation's closed, though. I don't know as the Manistee folks 'd want to risk it.”
“Yes, but look at that.” Hunch motioned toward the lake, which lay blue and sparkling beyond the Buttersville sandspit. “Quiet as August and it's a short run. There ain't hardly any ice either.”