Read Ebook: The Boss of Wind River by Chisholm A M Arthur Murray

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Ebook has 1554 lines and 66045 words, and 32 pages

"Tut, tut!" said Ackerman reprovingly. "I read a weekly commercial report, like other men. The mortgages are no secret."

"I beg your pardon," said Kent. "I shouldn't have spoken as I did. Fact is, I'm a little touchy on that subject."

"Needlessly so," said Ackerman. "Most of my own property is mortgaged, and I don't consider it a disgrace. I can use the money to better advantage in other ways. Well, as I was saying, the new capital would expand the business, the advice of experienced gentlemen would make things easy for you; and if the property was put in at a good, liberal valuation--as of course it would be--your holding would be worth more than it is to-day."

"That is, the experienced gentlemen would water the stock," said Kent.

Mr. Ackerman reddened a little. "A liberal valuation isn't water," he replied. "Those who would buy into the concern wouldn't be apt to give you too much. Of course, they would desire to be perfectly fair."

"Oh, of course," said Kent. "Well, Mr. Ackerman, I don't think we need discuss the matter further, for I've decided to keep on paddling my own little canoe."

"Think it over, think it over," Ackerman urged.

"I have thought it over," said Joe. "You see, Mr. Ackerman, I may not know much about this business, but I don't know any more about any other. So I might as well stick to it."

"The plan I have outlined"--Ackerman began.

"I don't like," Kent put in, smiling. "My position is this: I want to handle this business myself and make a success at it. I expect to make mistakes, but not the same mistake twice. I'm awfully obliged for your interest, but to be told what to do by a board of directors would spoil all my fun."

"Fun!" echoed Mr. Ackerman, horrified. "My dear sir, business--is--not--fun!"

"It is for me--about the bulliest fun I ever had in my life," said young Kent. "I never played a game I liked as well."

Mr. Ackerman shook his head sadly. The young man was hopeless. "I suppose," he said casually, as he rose to go, "that in the event of a syndicate offering you a fair price for the whole concern, lock, stock, and barrel, you wouldn't sell?"

"No, I don't think so," Joe replied.

Joe, from his favourite position at the window, saw Mr. Ackerman emerge from the building and begin his dignified progress down the street.

"I didn't like his stock proposition," he thought, "but I guess he isn't a bad old sport at bottom. Seems to mean well. I'm sorry I was rude to him."

Just then Mr. Ackerman, looking up, caught his eye. Joe waved a careless, friendly hand. Mr. Ackerman so far forgot his dignity as to return the friendly salute, and smiled upward benignantly.

"The damned young pup!" said Mr. Ackerman behind his smile.

William Crooks, the old lumberman who had been the friend of the elder Kent, was big and broad and burly, and before the years had silvered his mane it was as red as any danger flag that ever wagged athwart steel rails. He held strong opinions, he used strong language, he was swift to anger, he feared no man on earth, and he knew the logging business from stump to market.

He inhabited a huge, square, brick structure that would have given an architect chronic nightmare. Twenty odd years before he had called to him one Dorsey, by trade a builder. "Dorsey," said Crooks, "I want you to build me a house."

Dorsey, who was a practical man, removed his pipe, scratched his head and asked: "What of?"

"Red brick," said Crooks. He held out a sheet of foolscap. "Here's the number of rooms and the sizes of them."

Dorsey scanned the paper. "What do you want her to cost?"

"What she's worth, and a fair profit to you," said Crooks. "Get at her and finish her by frost. I'll want to move in by then."

"All right," said Dorsey. "She'll be ready for you."

In that house his children were born, and there three of them and his wife died. There Jean, his youngest girl, grew to womanhood, a straight, lithe, slender, dark-haired young tyrant, with his own fearlessness and directness of speech. She was known to her intimates as "Jack," and she and Joe Kent had been friends all their young lives.

Since coming home Kent had seen little of her. He was very busy mastering details of the business, and either went back to his office in the evenings or spent them quietly at the club. But on the day of his interview with Mr. Ackerman it occurred to him that he should call upon Jack Crooks.

When he opened the gate that evening he saw that the wide veranda was well occupied. Four young men were making exceedingly light conversation to two young women. William Crooks was nowhere visible. Miss Crooks came down the walk to meet him, and held out two slim hands in welcome.

"I'm so glad to see you, Joe. I've been looking for you for days."

"You see, I've been busy," said Kent. "And then, naturally, I haven't been going out much."

She nodded sympathetic comprehension. "I understand, of course. Come up and be presented. I have a very charming visitor."

"Any one I know?"

"Edith Garwood. She's my guest for a few weeks. Have you met her?"

Joe had never met Miss Garwood. He decided as he shook hands with her that this was his distinct loss. Edith Garwood was tall and fair and blue eyed, with the dainty bloom and colouring of a flower. Her smile was simply distracting. Her voice was low and musical, and her laughter carried a little trill that stuck in the memory like the first bird notes of spring. She seemed to be one of those rare girls who are made to be loved by everybody, madly adored by several, and finally captured by some undeservingly lucky man.

At that moment she was holding a little court. Mallane, a young lawyer; Drew, of Drew & Son; Leadly, whose chief occupation was the dissemination of his father's money, which he had almost accomplished; and young Jolly, who honoured a bank with his presence by day, clustered around her closely. Each was quite positive that her glances and laughter held a meaning for him which the others did not share. The charmed circle, momentarily broken by the entrance of Kent, closed again. They talked at Miss Garwood, they postured at her, and when, now and then, they remembered the existence of their young hostess and included her in the conversation, it was evidently as a matter of duty only. Just then Edith Garwood was the only star in all the heavens.

Joe drew chairs for himself and Miss Jack just outside the group.

"Well?" she asked.

"Quite, thank you."

"I didn't mean that. Is it love at first sight with you, too?"

"No chance for me," laughed Joe. "Competition is too keen. Besides, Jack, I've been in love with you for years."

"Nonsense!" she said, so sharply that he looked at her in surprise. "I waive my prior claim," she added, with a laugh. "Confess, Joe! Isn't she the prettiest girl you ever saw?"

"She seems to be a good deal of a peach," Joe admitted. "Is she related to Hugh Garwood, the president of the O. & N. Railway?"

"Daughter," said Jack briefly. "His only child."

Joe grinned. "Which probably accounts for the obvious devotion of Mallane and Leadly."

"Don't be so cynical; it isn't nice. She can't help it, can she?"

"Of course not. I was speaking of the men."

"Well, she's very pretty and charming. If I were a young man I'd fall in love with her. It wouldn't surprise me a bit to see you smitten."

Joe reddened a trifle, conscious that while he had been talking to Jack his eyes had been on Miss Garwood. Once or twice her glance had met his and she had given him a friendly smile. It seemed to hint at an understanding between them--as if she would have been very glad to have him change places with one of the others. And yet it was absolutely frank and open.

Kent, being an average young man, did not analyze the quality of it. He merely felt that he liked Edith Garwood, and she probably did not dislike him. At the same time he began to feel a slight aversion to the four men who monopolized her; but he explained this to himself quite honestly on the ground that it was boorish of them to neglect Jack Crooks for a guest, no matter how charming the latter might be. His reply to Jack's prediction was interrupted by William Crooks.

"Well, young people," said the old lumberman, emerging upon the veranda, "why don't you come into the house and have some music?"

"It's cooler out here, dad," said Jack. "Sit down and make yourself at home and have a smoke. Here's Joe."

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