Both
Cardigans knew that Pennington would eagerly seize upon this point to
stint his competitor still further on logging-equipment, that there
would be delays--purposeful but apparently unavoidable--before this
lost rolling-stock would be replaced. And in the interim the Cardigan
mill, unable to get a sufficient supply of logs to fill orders in
hand, would be forced to close down. Full well Pennington knew that
anything which, tends to bring about a shortage of raw material for
any manufacturing plant will result inevitably in the loss of
customers.
"Well, son," said John Cardigan mildly as Bryce unlatched the gate,
"another bump, eh?"
"Yes, sir--right on the nose."
"I meant another bump to your heritage, my son."
"I'm worrying more about my nose, partner. In fact, I'm not worrying
about my heritage at all. I've come to a decision on that point:
We're going to fight and fight to the last; we're going down
fighting. And by the way, I started the fight this afternoon. I
whaled the wadding out of that bucko woods-boss of Pennington's, and
as a special compliment to you, John Cardigan, I did an almighty fine
job of cleaning. Even went so far as to muss the Colonel up a
little."
"Wow, wow, Bryce! Bully for you! I wanted that man Rondeau taken
apart.
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