No sooner had Mrs. Tully departed than Bryce rose and closed the door
behind her. John Cardigan opened the conversation with a contented
grunt:
"Plug the keyhole, son," he continued. "I believe you have something
on your mind--and you know how Mrs. Tully resents the closing of that
door. Estimable soul that she is, I have known her to eavesdrop. She
can't help it, poor thing! She was born that way."
Bryce clipped a cigar and held a lighted match while his father
"smoked up." Then he slipped into the easy-chair beside the old man.
"Well, John Cardigan," he began eagerly, "fate ripped a big hole in
our dark cloud the other day and showed me some of the silver lining.
I've been making bad medicine for Colonel Pennington. Partner, the
pill I'm rolling for that scheming scoundrel will surely nauseate him
when he swallows it."
"What's in the wind, boy?"
"We're going to parallel Pennington's logging-road."
"Inasmuch as that will cost close to three quarters of a million
dollars, I'm of the opinion that we're not going to do anything of
the sort."
"Perhaps. Nevertheless, if I can demonstrate to a certain party that
it will not cost more than three quarters of a million, he'll loan me
the money."
The old man shook his head. "I don't believe it, Bryce.
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