"Mighty poor business," put in Bob quietly.
Baker turned full toward him.
"Think so? You'll never get any cigars in the guessing contest unless you can scare up better ones than that. Let's get back to cases. How did you happen to make this break, anyway?"
"Why," explained Welton, "it was simply a case of build a road and a flume down a worthless mountain-side. Back with us a man builds his road where he needs it, and pays for the unavoidable damage. My head was full of all sorts of details. I went and asked Plant about it, and he said all right, go ahead. I supposed that settled it, and that he must certainly have authority on his own job."
Baker nodded several times.
"Sure. I see the point. Just the same, he has you."
"For the time being," amended Welton. "Bob's father, here, is congressman from our district in Michigan, and he'll fix the matter."
Baker turned his face to the ceiling, blew a cloud of smoke toward it, and whistled. Then he looked down at Welton.
"I suppose you know the real difficulty?" he asked.
"One thousand dollars," replied Welton promptly—"to hire extra fire-fighters to protect my timber," he added ironically.