decided it's time he does something to make his—fortune," dryly. "We've had a little argument, which didn't get us much of anywhere. John calculates I owe him somethin', and mebby I do—after hearing what he's had to say to me tonight." There was a streak of grit in the tone, as though he repressed some strong impulse. "He wants a start, a flyin' start—somethin' he can turn over quick, an' not have to monkey along at hard work and spend the years I did—" He licked his lips and, before his disconcerting manner, John stirred uneasily.
"John's got a better education than I ever had. He's more sure of himself than I was at his age. He thinks I don't understand him, an' mebby I don't." He wheezed an odd laugh and rubbed his nose briskly. "Ah-he! There's nothin' so likely to upset a man as bein' too sure.
"Son," sobering and stirring in his chair, "logs are worth money today. Three hundred thousand of hardwood's worth what I'd have called a lot of money. How'd that suit you, if I give you this three hundred thousand for your start—so's you wouldn't have to grub along, so's you'd have it plumb easy compared to what I had?"
The secretary's head made a slight forward movement, as in surprise, but Luke's face betrayed nothing, except a grim settling of the mouth; Rowe then looked at John and the boy thought a smirk crossed his lips.
"You can make out the papers, Rowe, an' throw in that forty," said the old man. "You can do it tomorrow, can't you?"
"Yes, sir, the first thing in the morning."
Silence for a moment; Rowe walked away, and as he
