Oakley rose in his good esteem; he had liked him, and he was justifying his good opinion. He beamed benevolently on the young man, and thawed out of his habitual reserve into a genial, ponderous frankness.
“You have done well,” he said, glancing through the order-book with evident satisfaction.
“Of course,” explained Oakley, “I am going to make a cut in wages this spring, if you agree to it, but I haven't the figures for this yet.” The general nodded. He approved of cuts on principle.
“That's always a wise move,” he said. “Will they stand it?”
“They'll have to.” And Oakley laughed rather nervously. He appreciated that his reforms were likely to make him very unpopular in Antioch. “They shouldn't object. If the road changes hands it will kill their town.”
“I suppose so,” agreed Cornish, indifferently.
“And half a loaf is lots better than no loaf,” added Oakley. Again the general nodded his approval. That was the very pith and Gospel of his financial code, and he held it as greatly to his own credit that he had always been perfectly willing to offer halfloaves.
“What sort of shape is the shop in?” he asked, after a moment's silence.
“Very good on the whole.”
“I am glad to hear you say so. I spent over a hundred thousand dollars on the plant originally.”