CHAPTER VIII
"Who's the best authority on timber around here?"
John Taylor, hanging over the desk in the Commercial House, put that question to Henry Wales, the proprietor. Henry applied a match to his refractory pale cigar and coughed and spit.
"Humphrey Bryant," he said.
"Lumberman?"
"Nope. Editor of the Banner. State Senator since God knows when. But he knows logs."
"Reliable?"
"Well, yes. He aint very pop'lar in his home town; got a lot of fool ideas about holdin' back the country, but I guess his word's good."
John went to the post-office after his mail and put the same question to the owlish postmaster. The man craned his neck that he might look through the wicket across the street to the office of the Blueberry Banner.
"Go over to the Banner office," he rasped asthmatically. "He's there at his desk. Hump Bryant. He knows all there is to know."
At the bank he was referred to the same man by the fussy little proprietor, and Jim Harris who met him on the street waved a hand toward the newspaper office and stated that Hump Bryant knew more about logs than Paul Bunion himself. Harris wanted to talk further but Taylor broke away; he had a feeling that the man was defiled and though he could detect no hardness behind
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