“Calc’late we could—if we could git the help and if nothin’ else didn’t prevent.” “Have you got l-logs?” Silas pointed out of the window to the log-yard, and anybody could see he did have logs, quite a consid’able stack of them. “Paid for?” says Mark. “Mostly,” says Silas. “Why didn’t you turn ’em into m-m-money, then?” “The faster I manufactured ’em the faster I went busted,” says Silas, “so I jest up and quit.” “Who do you owe m-money to besides Pa?” Mark wanted to know. “Not many. You see I kep’ usin’ the money I borrowed off him to pay other folks.” “That’s a help, anyhow,” Mark says. “How many logs do you use a d-day?” “Some days more, some days less.” “Got any orders on h-hand? For drumsticks and dumb-bells and s-s-sich?” “Not to speak of,” says Silas. “That’s good, too,” says Mark. “It lets us take a f-f-fresh start. Who you been sellin’ to?” Silas told him the names of several concerns, and Mark wrote them down in a little book. “Now,” says he to Silas, “you stir around and get a crew here to start up to-morrow. We’re a-goin’ to manufacture, and we _got_ to manufacture before I kin do any f-f-figgerin’. Maybe there’s experts could figger costs without startin’ to manufacture, but I’m dummed if I kin. We’ll run a week or so and then we’ll start to f-f-figger.” “Jest as you say,” Silas roared, like a boiler was busting, and out he went, grabbing at his whiskers and hanging on like they were some kind of a balloon that carried him through the air. The rest of his long, lank body kind of trailed behind like the tail of a kite. “Now,” says Mark, “l-let’s start in.” “How?” says I. “Gittin’ ready. I studied some bookkeepin’ in school this year, and I guess Clem Brush down to the bank will give me some p-pointers. I’ll git him to help buy a set of books. I want you fellers should hustle around here and sort things over, and make a list of everything in the m-m-mill. And while you’re doin’ it you might clean up some. Never seen sich a dirty mill. Looks like Silas never cleaned any sawdust out of here from the day he started to run. As full of sawdust as an ice-house. Two of you go at that—Plunk and Binney. Tallow, you go to the office and see if you can’t m-m-make it look more l-like an office and less like the place where a boiler exploded.... If you kin f-f-find a stock-room, take an inventory of it.” Off he went down-town, and we set to work with shovels and brooms and paper and pencils. Looks like a fellow gits more ease and quiet and comfort out of a lead-pencil than he does out of a shovel. Binney was willing to do all the listing if I’d do all the cleaning; and I was willing to wear my brain out with inventory if he’d crack his back shoveling sawdust. When we saw neither of us was going to give in, we made the best of it and divided up. Tallow didn’t have anything to double up while he was working in the office; shovel up was his job, and we guyed him some.