“Just figuring on the drive,” said Orde, nodding a farewell.
He had the team harnessed, and, assuming his buffalo-fur coat, drove to the offices of all the men owning timber up and down the river. When he had collected his statistics, he returned to his desk, where he filled the backs of several envelopes with his characteristically minute figures. At the close of his calculations he nodded his head vigorously several times.
“Joe,” he called across to his partner, “I'm going to cut that whole forty million we have left.”
Newmark did not turn. After a moment his dry expressionless voice came back.
“I thought that we figured that as a two-years' job.”
“We did, but I'm going to clean up the whole thing this year.”
“Do you think you can do it?”
“Sure thing,” replied Orde. Then under his breath, and quite to himself, he added: “I've got to!”