“I calculate so, too,” said Jim. Then after a pause: “Why didn’t you go into this yourself. Judge? You could have handled it.” “Young feller, I’m past seventy. I got enough so’s nobody kin starve me. I hain’t chick nor child nor relative on earth. What d’you calc’late I’d do with more ’n I’ve got? It’s come too late for me, Jim. I’ve sort of give up my aims and ambitions for Diversity, and hain’t got none left. Diversity’s used me up, sich as I be, and it’s welcome to what it got. And me, I guess I got my pay all right. I’ve seen marryin’s and christenin’s. I’ve seen young folks happy and old folks comforted. I’ve stuck my finger into folkses’ pies, and seen ’em with tears in their eyes that was better ’n thanks. No, son, I’ve had my investment and my profits. You’re welcome to yourn.” CHAPTER XVII It was the following Friday that Jim’s attention was called to the scant stock of logs on the skids. He knew that the mill had been eating up more timber than before, and of course was pleased, for that meant an increased production. He knew, too, that the Diversity Hardwood Company had missed sending down a train of logs once or twice when they should have been sent; but other matters had filled his attention to the exclusion of this. John Beam saw Jim staring at the logs and stepped over to his side. “I was comin’ up to see you about this to-day,” he said. “Them folks is givin’ us the worst of it, plenty. Look at the logs they’re sendin’ down. Mostly beech, and dozy at that. For a week we’ve been short of maple for veneer. And they’ve been holdin’ back on us. We’re usin’ twice what they’re sendin’ down. I asked the boss of their train crew what was the matter, and he just grinned at me so’s I wanted to land him one, and says we was lucky to be alive.” “Do you think they’re trying to tie us up?” “I don’t _think_ it,” said John. Jim turned on his heel and strode back to the office. He called the Diversity Company on the telephone. “We’re running short of logs,” he said. “You’ve been cutting down on shipments. When can we have another train-load?” “Things aren’t going just right in the woods,” said a voice. “I don’t believe we can get you more than a small train-load before Tuesday or Wednesday.” “We’ll be shut down Saturday if we don’t get logs.” “I’m sorry, Mr. Ashe, but we’re doing our best.” “Is Mr. Moran there?” “He’ll be in on the afternoon train.” Jim hung up the receiver. He had been feeling too fine; he had grown cocky at his recent successes; now he had a taste of the opposite emotion. His mill was running better—but what good did it do if the log supply failed? He had been able to borrow money to pay bills and to operate—but that only made matters worse if he were unable to get out his product. He had an option on Le Bar’s timber. This might or might not be a profitable matter, but it was of no present help. He must have logs.