“You have not looked deep enough into it, my boy,” mildly protested Miller. “You haven't figured on the enormous expense of running such a road and the dead loss of the investment after the lumber is moved out. You'd have a railroad property worth a quarter of a million on your hands. I can't make you see my position. I simply say to you that I wouldn't touch a deal like that with a ten-foot pole.” Alan laughed good-naturedly as he laid his hand on his friend's shoulder. “I reckon you think I'm off,” he said, “but sooner or later I'm going to put this thing through. Do you hear me? I 'll put it through if it takes ten years to do it. I want to make the old man feel that he has not made such a fool of himself; I want to get even with the Thompson crowd, and Perkins, and everybody that is now poking fun at a helpless old man. I shall begin by raising money some way or other to pay taxes, and hold on to every inch of the ground.” Miller's glance fell before the fierce fire of Alan's eyes, and for the first time his tone wavered. “Well,” he said, “you may have the stuff in you that big speculators are made of, and I may simply be prejudiced against the scheme on account of your father's blind plunging, and what some men would call over-cautiousness on my part. I may be trying to prevent what you really ought to do; but I am advising you as a friend. I only know _I_ would be more cautious. Of course, you may try. You'd not lose in doing that; in fact, you'd gain experience. I should say that big dealers in lumber are the men you ought to see first. They know the values of such investments, and they are reaching out in all directions now. They have cleaned up the timber near the railroads.” XII [Illustration: 9097] ILLER accompanied Alan to the door. Old Trabue stood in front of his office in his shirt-sleeves, his battered silk hat on the back part of his head. He was fanning himself with a palm-leaf fan and freely using his handkerchief on his brow. He bowed cordially to Alan and came towards him. “I want to ask you,” he began, “as Pole Baker any way of raisin' money?” “Not that I know of,” laughed Alan. “I don't know whether he's got a clear title to the shirt on his back. He owes everybody out our way. My father is supplying him on time now.” “That was my impression,” said Trabue. “He wanted me to defend 'im the other day, but he couldn't satisfy me about the fee, an' I let him go. He first said he could give me a lien on a mule, but he finally admitted that it wasn't his.” “He's not in trouble, is he?” exclaimed Alan, suddenly recalling Mrs. Baker's uneasiness.