"It doesn't--yet--but it's something we'll have to consider very soon
to bring in pulp wood."
"Oh!" Wimperley's voice was a trifle indignant.
"It's another matter to discuss when you feel like it," went on Clark
imperturbably. "The road won't cost us anything."
"Won't it? Then it will be the first thing we have touched of its
kind." Wimperley tried to speak lightly.
"The Federal Government bonus will pay for one-third, the provincial
bonus for another, which leaves us about seven hundred thousand to take
care of. There should be no difficulty in getting that out of the sale
of lands we will develop. However," he added evenly, "we needn't worry
about it just now. And, by the way, I had an inquiry yesterday for
forty thousand horse power. Of course we haven't got it to spare, at
least not at the moment. Now will you excuse me for just a moment?"
He stepped into the general office and shut the door softly behind him.
Wimperley glanced inquiringly at Stoughton.
"You haven't done much ramming this morning!"
"No, I'm not just in the mood. How about you?" Stoughton turned to
Birch.
The latter did not reply. His cold eyes were taking in the severe
fittings of the private office, whose walls were covered with maps and
blue prints. The truth was that the spell of Clark's extraordinary
intelligence was beginning to fall over them once more. It was so
obvious that he was the center of the whole affair, and from him there
seemed to spread out into the wilderness long filaments over which
there trickled an unending stream of information.
"I didn't hear 'blast furnaces' mentioned either," piped Riggs.
"Cut it out for the present. The time hasn't come, but it will."
Stoughton got up and began to walk up and down. "We've got to hear all
he has to say. That's the wise thing. Let him talk himself out. He
can't talk for ever."