“Where's that?”
“Up in the Alpena country.”
“Lake Huron, eh? Oh—isn't that where you went in the spring?”
“Yes, I've been there. An old fellow named Spencer runs a little one-horse mill, and he's selling timber and shingles. And from what the Cap'n said, I don't think he'd care if you brought along a little venture of your own. That's the way I used to do, when I was paying for the Schmidt.”
“How could I do that?”
“Spencer will give you a little credit. You can stow away a few thousand feet, and clear twenty or thirty dollars. It helps along.”
“All right, I 'll try it. Are you sure the old man won't care?”
“Oh, yes. He's willing enough to do the square thing, so long as it keeps us feeling good and doesn't lose him anything.”
“Say—there's another thing, Henry. I fired Roche, up at Manistee.”
“Fired him?” Henry's brows came together.