“Well, you might talk to 'em up at Manistee, Hunch. Of course, they can deliver anyhow they like, but I can't run chances of delay.”
So Hunch went over to the telegraph office in the railroad station, and after a great deal of writing and rewriting made up the following message:
To Wm. F. Jackson, Esq.,
Pres't Manistee Timber Co.:
Will deliver the Liddington elevator bill of fifty thousand feet by Lake, One Hundred Dollars. If terms satisfactory, wire reply, so I can deliver while weather holds fair.
J. Badeau.
When this message reached Jackson, he was sitting at his desk, with the railroad rate figured out on a sheet of paper before him. He promptly laid the two offers side by side and looked from one to the other. There was no doubt that the lake route would be cheaper. But, on the other hand, it was now after the first of December, and navigation was nominally closed on the great lakes. Insurance he could get, if at all, only at a prohibitive rate.
It was a question of judgment, and before deciding it, Mr. Jackson got up and walked over to the window. The busy little city of Manistee shut off his view of Lake Michigan, but he knew it was flat as a mirror. Not many hours earlier he had stood by another window, in his big house on the bluff, and as he shaved he had looked out over miles and miles of blue water, as calm as in June. It was warm enough for mid-autumn; the barometer promised continued dear weather. Altogether, Badeau's offer had decidedly the best of it. So he sent a message to “J. Badeau, Liddington,” asking him to bring up his schooner at once.
Hunch, on receiving the message, went up to Herve's saloon, and while standing at the bar, let his eyes rove about the room until they settled on a lank, middle-aged man in the corner.
“Hello, Herm Peabody.”