"The idea came to him like all big ideas come to big men, I suppose," turning to John, "out of an appreciation of coming necessity. He had made some money in pine. He came on this tract a year or so after the last of the original pine was cut. It was naturally protected from the fires that always followed logging, by the river, swamps, hardwood and a chain of lakes, and no fire of consequence had been in here. He saw the seedlings coming up so thickly, knew that the land had produced splendid pine once, and believed it would again. He bought the piece, kept fires out, went abroad to see how Central Europe had grown its own forests, and put in the rest of his life making this land produce its second crop.
"That was in the middle seventies when he started. The growth is nearly fifty years old now. Foraker's Folly had become an old story and a stale joke to the locality, and very few people outside are interested enough to find out about it."
A burst of wind set the forest moaning.
"Your father had a great deal of courage," Taylor began and the girl looked up with something like appreciation. That died, however, when he added: "But that's a long time to wait for a return on your investment."
"Yes," she said, and in the response was marked coolness.
The outer door opened and Helen looked over her shoulder.
"What is it, Joe?"
The short man crossed the room and stood in the doorway, wet cap in his hands.
"Tell her," he said, "that Milt couldn't get any bacon from Raymer."
