If the mill burned down, we'd rebuild, wouldn't
we? Even if we were embarrassed--which we're not--we'd hardly care
to acknowledge publicly that we couldn't keep up our equipment. And
as we're making twelve or fifteen thousand a year out of our
freighting, it seems to me too good a business to let slip into
other hands."
"I suppose so," agreed Orde, a trifle helplessly.
"Therefore I had to act without you," Newmark finished. "I knew
you'd agree. That's right: isn't it?" he insisted.
"Yes, that's right," agreed Orde drearily.
"You'll find copies of the contract on your desk," Newmark closed
the matter. "And there's the tax lists. I wish you'd run them
over."
"Joe," replied Orde, "I--I don't think I'll stay down town this
morning. I--"
Newmark glanced up keenly.
"You don't look a bit well," said he; "kind of pale around the
gills. Bilious. Don't believe that camp grub quite agrees with you
for a steady diet."
"Yes, that must be it," assented Orde.
He closed his desk and went out. Newmark turned back to his papers.
His face was expressionless. From an inner pocket he produced a
cigar which he thrust between his teeth. The corners of his mouth
slowly curved in a grim smile.
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