“I hope not that, but we’ll have to point out to you that one mill can’t upset the whole industry.” “And I’ll point out to you that this mill can do as it everlastingly pleases. Let’s go back to the hotel. Is it shake hands or fight?” “I’m afraid it’ll have to be fight.” “Then,” Jim said—and all of a sudden he felt grimly glad, and a grimly glad smile lighted his face “then I guess I’ll fire the first shot. Our inventory shows we’ve got fifty thousand boxes in the old warehouse. They go on the market to-morrow at five tens off the present price—and if that doesn’t suit you I’ll cut off another ten or so.” “But—but, my boy, you’re crazy. You’ll lose money on every box you sell.” “So will you—and you’ve got more to sell than I have just now. You can watch me send the telegram,” Jim said. “Young man, you’re a bit sudden,” said Mr. Welliver. “I may be sudden, sir, but you’ll find I’m lasting, too. When this ruction calms down one of two things will have happened: I’ll be busted or the Club will have learned to stick to the purpose for which it was formed.” He turned and strode off toward the hotel, with Mr. Welliver trotting at his heels, uttering bleating sounds of protest. As they neared the piazza, he said, pantingly: “Suppose we talk some more. Maybe we can hit on a compromise.” “The only compromise you can hit on is to keep your hands off.” Mr. Welliver shrugged his shoulders. “Good night, young man. I’m afraid you’re going to be very sorry for this. Your father had more—discretion.” “My father’s backbone reached from the base of his skull to the seat of his pants,” said Jim, “and every inch of it was stiff. Good night, Mr. Welliver.” Inside he procured a telegraph blank and wrote a brief message to the bookkeeper at the old office: Notify all agents and customers price clothespins five tens off list. Effective to-day. Again something to do had arisen and Jim had done it swiftly, suddenly. He had added fresh and stronger claims on his new name. CHAPTER IV Jim awoke next morning to a sense not altogether one of satisfaction with the events of the night before. He realized he had inaugurated a clothespin war which further parleying might have postponed or prevented. Again he had acted swiftly, suddenly, surprisingly to himself. Yet as he thought it over he was less inclined to censure himself. He felt he was right when he insisted on building and operating his mill to suit himself—so long as he built and operated with fairness. He knew Welliver and the Club would not recede from their position, and that there remained only to surrender, play for delay, or fight. There is a certain satisfaction in striking first. Jim’s watch told him it would not be six o’clock for another half-hour, and breakfast was not until seven. He dressed leisurely and descended to the piazza, where, grouped about the step of the buggy, stood Welliver, Michael Moran, and the old justice of the peace.