IV

Wright stalked into Joe's office one morning and slapped an open letter

down on his desk. Evidently he was red hot.

"What do you think of that?" he demanded. The communication was brief

and business-like:

BARKER & SMITH

Contractors--Builders

Oshkook, June 10th.

The Kent Lumber Co., Falls City.

Dear Sirs: Referring to our correspondence as to a quantity of

lumber f.o.b. Falls City, we would say that we will not require

same from you, having been quoted a more favourable rate.

Regretting that in this instance we must place our order

elsewhere, we are,

-- Yours truly, Barker & Smith.

Joe whistled dismally. Barker & Smith were large contractors and retail

dealers. The quantity of lumber referred to was large, and the contract

had been all but closed; in fact, he was not sure that it had not been

closed. After consultation with Wright he had quoted the firm a rock

bottom cash price because he needed the money more than the lumber. Now

he was thrown down hard.

"Well, some one underbid us," he said, trying to hide his

disappointment. "That's all there is to it."

"Nobody could underbid us and get out even," said Wright. "We figured

our margin down to a hair-line. I'll bet a hundred to one they can't get

it cheaper without stealing."

"They say they can, and I suppose it goes," said Joe wearily. "Hang it,

I thought it was as good as closed!"

"Same here; and I'm not sure it isn't," said Wright. "They practically

agreed to take the stuff from us."

"Show the correspondence to Locke then, and see what he says," Joe

suggested.

But Locke, after he had waded through the papers, tossed them back to

Wright. "No good," he said. "What's here doesn't amount to a contract,

though it comes mighty close to it."

"It comes so close to it that we had cars run up the spur and started to

load," said Wright. "The understanding was--"

"It had no business to be," Locke interrupted. "You've shown me all the

papers in the matter, haven't you? Very well, I tell you they don't

amount to an agreement. They're simply a series of proposals,

rejections, and requests for other proposals, though you came very

nearly agreeing. While you're dickering some one cuts in with a better

rate and they call it off. You can't hold them."

"But nobody could underbid us; we quoted 'em rock bottom," Wright

persisted. That was the main point in his mind.

"Oh, pshaw, Wright, have some sense!" snapped Locke. "That may be an

excuse, or it may not. It's quite immaterial. Can't you see that?"

"That's all right from a lawyer's standpoint, but not from ours," said

Wright. "Barker & Smith use a lot of lumber, and they're not in business

to lose money. I say nobody could underbid us. They lie when they say

they got a better rate. What do they want to lie for? It's money out of

their pockets."

"I'm a lawyer, not a mind reader," Locke reminded him. "Your quotations

were f.o.b. Falls City. It's just possible the freight rate may have

something to do with it."

Wright returned to the office, pulled out his tariff books and compared

the rate from Falls City to Oshkook with rates from other competitive

points to the latter place.

"We've got 'em skinned there, too," he soliloquized. "They can't lay

down any lumber cheaper than ours. It beats me."

For an hour he pulled at a blackened brier and pondered the question.

Then he went to Kent.

"This thing worries me," he said. "I can't see through it. I think I'll

take a run over to Oshkook and have a talk with Barker & Smith."

"I wouldn't," said Joe, his pride up in arms. "We don't want to go

begging for their business. We quoted 'em a good rate. If they don't

want our stuff at that let 'em go to the devil." He was sore and

stiff-necked, as is the wont of youth when things go wrong.

But the older man persisted:

"I don't care so much that we lost the contract; I want to find out, if

I can, why we lost it. I know we weren't underbid, and I want to know

why they lied about it. It isn't a case of soliciting business; it's a

case of finding out why we don't get what's coming to us, and that's a

mighty vital question to any concern. We've sold Barker & Smith before,

and never had any friction. We can't afford to ride the high horse just

now. There's something behind this, and it's up to us to find out what."

Kent recognized the force of the argument. "I was wrong. Go ahead and

find out all you can."

Wright took train for Oshkook and dropped into Barker & Smith's office.

Barker was out, and he saw Smith.

"I called about the lumber we quoted you a price on," said Wright.

"Oh, that?" said Smith, who was plainly uneasy. "Yes. Let's see! We

didn't come to terms, did we?"

"No, we didn't." said Wright. "We quoted you a price that left us

practically no margin. I don't see how any one could give a lower

quotation. In fact, I wouldn't have believed it possible if your letter

hadn't said so. I tell you whoever underbid us will lose money by it, or

else you'll get poor stuff."

"We won't accept poor stuff," said Smith. "As to whether the other

people lose money or not, that's their affair. I presume they know their

own business."

"Would you mind telling me who they are?" Wright asked.

The question appeared to embarrass Smith.

"Why, upon my word, Wright, I don't exactly know," he replied. "We got a

number of quotations, of course. Barker has been looking after it.

Better see him."

"You'd have the information in the office, wouldn't you?" Wright

pressed.

"I suppose so, I suppose so; but--here, you see Barker. He knows all

about it. I don't. Sorry to leave you, but I've got an appointment." And

he left Wright to wait for the senior partner.

When Barker came in, fully two hours later, his surprise at seeing

Wright was so much overdone that the latter knew Smith had been talking

to him.

"Well, now, look here," said Barker when Wright had opened the matter,

"I don't want to talk about this. We got a dozen quotations and picked

out the one that suited us. That's all there is to it. I'm not going to

tell you where we buy or what we buy for. That's our business."

"You said we were underbid, and that's my business," said Wright. "I

tell you we weren't."

"That," said Barker with first-class indignation, "amounts to a

reflection on our veracity."

"I wouldn't put it that way," retorted Wright. "Your letter was a darned

poor lie, if you want my opinion of it. Now, hold your horses for a

minute while I talk. No one quoted you a better rate then we did; I know

that. And I know that transportation charges cut no figure, either. I'm

not kicking, understand, but I do want to know why we didn't land the

contract. We've done business with you before and hope to do business

with you again. Where do we fall down? Why are you throwing it into us?

What do we have to figure on besides cost, next time you ask us for a

quotation?"

"Better wait till I ask you," said Barker.

"No, because this is a serious thing for us. I want to make it plain

that we recognize your right to buy anywhere, and for any price you

choose to pay. That's all right. You needn't have given any reason at

all. But the reason you did give was not the true one, and we both know

it. Now, man to man, Mr. Barker, tell me what we're up against. Why

didn't we get the contract?"

"Well," said Barker hesitatingly, "there is something in what you say. I

don't mind telling you this much: There are a holy lot of wires in our

business, and we have to stand in with the people who pull them, see?

Sometimes we have to buy where we're told, no matter what the price is.

We get square in other ways. That's about what happened in this case,

otherwise you would have got the order."

Wright felt quite elated when he took his departure, for he had

justified his contention that they had not been underbidden. Wright's

business was to cut logs into lumber and sell the lumber. William Kent

had looked after the logging end of the concern. The limits, the camps,

and the drives were his field. What logs he did not sell he handed over

to Wright and thought no more about, knowing that they would be worked

up into everything from rough boards to matched flooring. Wright, then,

having ascertained the reason of the throw down, accepted it

philosophically as arising from circumstances beyond his control. But

young Kent, when he received his manager's report, was not so

philosophic.

"Pretty rotten state of affairs if people have to buy where they are

told," he fumed. "Nice free country we inhabit! I never took much stock

in such yarns, but I'm beginning to see that there may be something in

them."

He took his troubles to Crooks, who listened, growled profane comment,

but offered no advice. When Kent had gone he went to Locke's office.

Locke heard him with attention.

"What does the boy think about it?" he asked.

"So far," Crooks replied, "he's more indignant because Barker & Smith

have to buy somewhere else than because he can't sell to them. Same

thing in one way, of course. But he's looking at it from what he thinks

is their standpoint. Says it's an outrage that they have to buy where

they're told."

"Now I wonder," said Locke thoughtfully, "if we may go a step further? I

wonder if they are told where not to buy?"

"By George!" exclaimed Crooks.

"It proves nothing," said Locke. "It may not be especially directed at

Kent."

"I'll bet it is," said Crooks. "I'm losing good customers myself without

reason. I can stand it, but Joe can't. He needs good luck to pull him

through as it is."

"What in thunder do you suspect anyway?" asked Locke. "A combine?"

"Not a bit of it," replied Crooks. "I've not been asked to join any ring

to boost prices; but I have been asked to sell out. So has Kent. We

won't do it, and immediately our businesses suffer."

"That is, you think somebody is forcing your hand?"

"That's what I think. If Barker had told the truth he'd have said he'd

been ordered not to buy from Kent."

"Well, if any one is hammering you he'll have to show his hand sooner or

later," said Locke. "Take your medicine till you can get hold of one

definite illegal act susceptible of proof beyond all question. Then

we'll simply raise the roof."

V

In less than a week from their first meeting, Edith Garwood and Joe Kent

were giving a very fair imitation of a flirtation. Joe, as has been said

before, was merely an average young man. He was not genuinely or at all

in love at first; but he was strongly attracted, and he played the

pleasant game without much thought of consequences. And Edith Garwood,

being so constituted that admiration was as the breath of life to her,

entered into it with zest.

Not that she confined herself to Joe. Mallane, Leadly, and half a dozen

others basked in the sunshine of her smiles, and she held the balance

fairly level, enjoying her power. Thus jealousies sprang up which

threatened to disrupt the _entente cordiale_ normally existing in the

younger set of Falls City. These were by no means confined to the young

men, for certain young ladies found themselves suddenly deserted by

cavaliers to whose loyalty they would have sworn, and were much

displeased thereby.

These things bore somewhat hardly on Jack Crooks. She was a frank,

unspoiled, straight-forward girl, and loyalty to her friends was one of

her distinguishing features. But she was very human, and the general

male adoration of her guest made her just a little tired. No young

hostess likes to be completely outshone by a visitor, even a very lovely

one, and to find herself practically overlooked by the young men of her

own town was a new and unpleasant experience.

"I thought Joe, anyway, had more sense," she reflected. "She doesn't

care for him any more than for the others, and he ought to see it. Oh,

well, let him burn his fingers. I don't care."

But she did care, because he was a very old friend, and she rather

resented the pumping process to which Miss Garwood subjected her one

evening. That young lady, after eliciting certain information as to the

habits, characters, and worldly prospects of several young gentlemen, at

last came around to Kent, a sequence which was suspicious in itself.

"Now your Mr. Kent, dear--tell me about him!"

"He's not _my_ Mr. Kent," said Jack, a shade of red stealing into her

cheeks. "Joe's a nice boy, quite the nicest I know. We played together

when we were kids--that is, he condescended to amuse me when he was nine

and I was five, and that's quite a concession for a boy, isn't it?

Lately he's been away at college, and so we haven't seen much of each

other."

"His father died recently. He is the only son, isn't he?"

"Yes. And his mother died when he was a little fellow, so he is quite

alone. He is carrying on the business himself."

"It's a big business, isn't it? Somebody said the late Mr. Kent was

quite wealthy."

Jack's brows drew together a little. She disliked these questions,

perfectly natural though they were.

"I believe he was; that is, of course, he owned mills and timber limits

and so on. I suppose Joe is well off, but he has never confided in me."

"But he may some day?" The unmistakable meaning in the words brought the

red to Jack's cheeks again. She turned the question carelessly.

"Oh, perhaps, when he is in a confidential mood. He always was a clam,

though."

"Jack, dear," said Miss Garwood, "look at me. Is there anything between

you and Mr. Kent?"

"Not a blessed thing," said Jack honestly. "Why?"

"I wanted to make sure I wasn't trespassing," replied Miss Garwood

lightly.

"Well, you're not," said Jack. "Now let me ask a question: Have you

fallen in love with him?"

"No, not exactly," said Miss Garwood. "But--well, dearie, I half suspect

that he has fallen in love with me."

In spite of herself Jack winced. It was what she had told herself, but

to hear it from Edith Garwood's careless lips was different. And yet why

should she care? Joe was no more to her than any other old friend.

Naturally he would fall in love some day and marry. Perhaps Edith, in

spite of her denial, did care for him. In that case-- She gave herself a

mental shake and met the curious look in her guest's blue eyes squarely.

"I don't see how he could help it," she said truthfully. "He isn't the

only one, either. Shall you marry him, Edith?"

Edith Garwood laughed, well pleased, for she liked to be told of her

conquests. "It's rather early to say," she replied. "You see, dear, he

hasn't asked me yet. And if he did, there are all sorts of things to be

considered."

"Such as what?" asked Jack. "If you love one another that's the main

thing, isn't it?"

"You dear, unsophisticated child!" laughed Miss Garwood. "That's only

one thing. We should have to live after we were married, you see."

"Well, I suppose Joe has enough money for that," Jack commented. "And

then you have plenty of money yourself, or your father has."

"Yes," Miss Garwood agreed; "but papa has his own ideas of what would be

a suitable match for me. I'm not sure he would approve of Joe--I mean

Mr. Kent. Confidentially, Jack, how much do you suppose he is worth?"

"I never supposed," said Jack shortly. "His income may be one thousand

or ten thousand a year; I don't know. You aren't marrying him for his

money."

"I haven't decided to marry him at all, you goose," said Miss Garwood

lightly. "It will be time enough to make up my mind when he asks me."

Nevertheless she lay awake for half an hour that night, thinking. Her

flirtation with Joe had reached a point for thought. She wondered how

Hugh Garwood would regard him as a prospective son-in-law. Finding the

answer rather doubtful, she sighed, turned her facile mind to something

else, and almost immediately slept.

For hours after her guest slumbered, Jack Crooks stared from her bed at

the treetops outside the window, and watched the patch of moonlight on

the floor slowly shift and finally disappear. And this sleeplessness was

the more unaccountable because she told herself again that she didn't

care whether Joe married Edith or not. She was quite honest about it.

"But I didn't like her questions about his money," she reflected. "She

has or will have enough for both. I know if I were in love--which thank

goodness I'm not--the amount of money a young man had would be the last

thing I'd think of. I don't believe dad would think of it either, just

so we had enough to live on, and good prospects. Of course not. She

can't think much of Joe if she lets that stand in the way. If he isn't

exactly rich he can't be poor. Mr. Kent was as well off as dad, I should

think. Oh, dear! I've simply _got_ to go to sleep." And finally she did,

just as the faintest light grew in the east.

Meanwhile, Joe Kent was doing a little soul searching himself, without

coming to any definite conclusion. He liked Edith Garwood, and he

suffered acute jealousy when she accepted the marked attentions of

others; but to save his life he couldn't make up his mind whether he

would care to look at her across his breakfast coffee as long as they

both should live. The question of money occurred to him, but not as an

important factor. He knew that old Hugh Garwood, the president of the O.

& N. Railway, had it to burn, to throw at the birds, to stuff cats with,

and half a dozen other ways of disposition. But he himself had enough to

keep a wife in the modest comfort which had always been his. He was

clean, healthy, well educated, and owned a business which, though

encumbered, was perfectly solvent. Therefore he considered himself,

without egotism, eligible for the hand of any girl, no matter how

wealthy her father might be.

But apart from the question of whether he loved Edith Garwood or not was

the somewhat embarrassing one of whether she loved him. It was all right

to flirt, to play the two-handed game for fun. But suppose it was for

marbles; suppose one took it seriously----

"Hang it," said young Kent to himself, "I don't know whether I've got

the real thing or not; and I don't know whether she has been stringing

me along or not. But if she hasn't been it's pretty nearly up to me to

come across with a formal proposal. I wish I knew where I was at. I

wonder if I could get a line from Jack?"

From which the experienced will readily deduce that young Mr. Kent was

somewhat rattled and a little afraid of the future, but not altogether

unwilling to pay for his fun like a man.

His endeavour to sound Miss Crooks was by no means a success. With

unwonted density she did not or would not see the drift of his

questions, framed with what he considered great subtlety; and when he

became more direct she went to the point with embarrassing candour:

"Do you want to marry her, or don't you?" she asked.

"Why, Jack, I'll be hanged if I know," he admitted.

"Well, when you make up your mind, ask her," said Jack. "Meanwhile don't

try to pump me. I don't know anything about her sentiments, and if I did

I wouldn't tell you."

So Joe had to go it blind. The flirtation, however, progressed. One

night the moon, rising gorgeous and serene above a notch in the hills,

discovered Edith Garwood and Joe Kent seated prosaically upon a huge log

by the river side, both very tongue-tied, and both apparently absorbed

in the engrossing pastime of tossing pebbles into the black water and

seeing the rings spread. In fact it had come to a showdown. It was

distinctly Joe's play, but he held up his hand. It was provoking, from

Miss Garwood's standpoint.

"I think," she said, "that we should go home."

"Oh, not yet; it's early," said Joe.

Pause. Miss Garwood sighed inaudibly but impatiently, and her fingers

played nervously with a ring. Joe stared blankly at the water. The ring,

escaping from the lady's hand, fell tinkling on the beach pebbles.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, "I've dropped my ring!"

She knelt at once and began to search for it in the semi-darkness. So

did Joe. Quite by accident her slim white hand came in contact with his

broad brown one. And the natural thing happened.

"Mr. Kent!"

"Yes--Edith!"

"Please!"

But she swayed toward him slightly. Accepting the situation, Joe Kent's

unoccupied hand and arm encircled her waist with considerable facility.

He even applied gentle pressure. She yielded a little, but protested:

"Mr. Kent--Joe!"

"Yes, dear!"

"You shouldn't--I shouldn't. I never gave you any reason to think that I

thought that you thought--I mean you couldn't think I did, could you?"

Which confusion of speech went to show that the usually composed Miss

Garwood was slightly rattled. She had created the situation and she felt

it slipping beyond her control. Joe, who had accepted it recklessly,

drew a long breath and made the plunge.

"I hope you do. I--I love you, Edith." He wondered if the words rang

true. To him they sounded hollow and forced. But Miss Garwood's waist

yielded a little more. The fingers of her disengaged hand clasped the

lapel of his coat and played with it, and her sweet blue eyes looked up

pleadingly, trustfully, into his brown ones.

"Joe," she murmured, "I don't know what to say. I'm not sure, but I half

suspect that I--I--oh!"

The exclamation was smothered, for again the natural thing had happened.

Five minutes afterward Miss Garwood smoothed her hair and said

irrelevantly:

"But we haven't found my ring!"

"Good old ring," said Joe, producing it from his pocket.

"Joe!" she cried in unaffected astonishment. "Did you have it there all

the time?"

"I found it pretty early in the game," he acknowledged without shame.

"I'll buy you another to-morrow."

The dim light hid the sudden gravity of her features. "Do you mean an

engagement ring, Joe?"

"Of course."

"Are we really engaged?"

"Simple process, isn't it? I guess we are."

Miss Garwood dug a daintily shod foot into the sand. This was getting

serious.

"But we ought to have papa's consent first."

"Well, I'll take a run over to your town and tell him about it," said

Joe carelessly. "Matter of form, I suppose. I'll look after that in a

day or two."

Miss Garwood laughed uneasily. "It's plain that you don't know him. I

think you would better leave that to me--about our engagement, I mean.

And meantime we won't say anything about it to anybody."

"I don't like that," said Joe frankly. Having made the plunge he was

ready to stay in the water. "Why shouldn't we announce it? Do you mean

your father wouldn't consent?"

"I doubt if he would, at first," she replied, apparently with equal

frankness. "You see he expects me--please don't be offended--but he

expects me to make what is called a good marriage."

"Do you mean he expects you to marry for money?"

"No, not altogether. But money and social position are desirable." Thus

early she sought to provide an avenue of retreat.

Joe stared at her, his pride hurt. It had never occurred to him that his

own social position was not as good as any one's. He was received

everywhere he wished to go; of fashionable society and the grades and

jealousies of it he knew little and cared less. He had no social

ambitions whatever, and his own modest place was perfectly assured.

"I don't quite get it," said he. "I have enough to live on. And I

suppose I could butt into society, if that's what you mean."

She explained gently, shouldering the responsibility upon her father. In

any event they could not marry at once. Then let their engagement remain

a secret between them. She sighed with relief when she carried her

point, for it gave her time to pause and reflect. Joe had swept her away

a little, for she really liked him. Now she saw things clearly once

more. Relative values emerged. Even a temporary engagement to a

comparatively poor, obscure young man would never do; that is, it must

not be made public. But she was given to following the line of the least

resistance. It never occurred to her to doubt that he was genuinely in

love, and she hated a scene. Later it would be an easy thing to break

with him. Meanwhile she would have what fun she could out of it, for Joe

was really very nice.