Taylor relapsed into thought.
“Look here, Orde,” he broke out finally, “how old are you?”
“Thirty-eight. Why?”
“How much timber have you in Michigan?”
“About ten million that we've picked up on the river since the Daly purchase and three hundred million in the northern peninsula.”
“Which will take you twenty years to cut, and make you a million dollars or so?”
“Hope so.”
“Then why this investment thirty years ahead?”
“It's for Bobby,” explained Orde simply. “A man likes to have his son continue on in his business. I can't do it here, but there I can. It would take fifty years to cut that pine, and that will give Bobby a steady income and a steady business.”
“Bobby will be well enough off, anyway. He won't have to go into business.”