Part 26 (2/2)
”How much will it take, Hiram?”
”Now don't fall over when I tell you--that's why I got a big chair with a soft cus.h.i.+on, so that you could sustain a shock once in a while without injury. Ben, it will take about a hundred thousand dollars to get it, but it's got to come,” he ended, pa.s.sing his hand rapidly over his chin as though glad it was out.
”You have not forgotten, Hiram, that you must settle with the railroad for the engine in the _Fearsome_ and the sawmill, too?”
”I know we have, but I've got enough in the bank for that and more besides,” he replied quickly. ”What do you think, is it possible?” he asked, making me feel he was not to be resisted.
”I don't know, Hiram; you are placing a pretty big order--we'll see--I don't believe I told you just how much I sold that barrel for, did I?”
turning to him with an affected smile of derision.
”Yes, I know you will have the laugh on me as long as you live about that barrel; in fact, I will laugh myself every time I think of it even if I am at a funeral, but that couldn't happen again in a million years,” he replied, getting up and pacing the room, finally halting in the opposite corner, where he catapulted a question as though he might be coming along with it.
”How much did you get for it, Ben?”
”It was as you say, Hiram, a thousand-to-one shot that could not have happened and never will happen again--I don't claim any credit, except in discovering it was not junk, by a little leakage through the chimes which discolored my fingers.”
”I know--I know--you never claim anything,” he interrupted.
”You see, we had to pay something like twenty thousand to clear the _Fearsome_.”
”Yes, I know that.”
”Well, I think there is a balance in the bank of something about forty thousand more----”
”You are joking again, Ben,” he interrupted, charging over toward me, incredulous, as I took from my wallet a credit slip which he grasped and began to cavort and cut capers on the expensive carpet, much the same as he acted at the first signs of good luck, months before.
”Ben, you are a mascot--you have been one to me, anyhow--now in another month--before this deal can be closed--I can pay the railroad claim for the motor and the sawmill, and every other stiver we owe. And we'll have at least ten thousand more to bring our balance up to fifty thousand.
Now, how can we raise fifty thousand more?” he asked, fairly excited--he p.r.o.nounced _fifty thousand_ as though he was used to dealing in those figures all his life--as though it was no more than the price of one of those famous beefsteaks he liked so well. He must have inherited it from the Gold-Beater--as he did the love for new, clean lumber and the lumber business. Hiram admitted he knew so little of his father that he was unaware I knew he was a Lumber King.
I took out cigars, thinking hard, and offered him one.
”No, thank you, I prefer a pipe,” said he producing one at once as something he had overlooked.
”Hiram, give me a little time--you say you leave this afternoon?”
”Yes, I ought to be on the dock now,” said he, blowing a cloud of smoke and scanning me as though to learn just what I was thinking. ”I will be back day after to-morrow,” he added, antic.i.p.ating the question.
”I'll see”--I said, moving back a little in my big chair and contemplating the end of my cigar--”perhaps when you get back I may have something--maybe there is a way----”
”Don't say maybe--say you will do it,” he prodded.
”Hiram, I still say _maybe_,” I answered firmly, wondering whether the Gold-Beater was still down the river shooting ducks, and if I could get into touch with him before Hiram returned.
Early on the morning he was due back, a messenger came to say I was wanted on the telephone by some one at Lake Borgne Locks. I knew it was Hiram--he had probably been calling Anna Bell Morgan to tell her of his arrival and knew he would catch me in my room.
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