"Just about," returned Mr. Turner cheerfully, addressing Cuthbert directly. The papier-mâché king was another man whom he had inscribed, some time since, upon his mental list. "My kid brother and myself will take two hundred and fifty thousand of the common stock for our patents and processes, and for our services as promoters and organizers, and will purchase enough of the preferred to give us voting power; say five thousand dollars worth." Mr. Cuthbert shook his head. "Very stringent terms," he observed. "I doubt if you will interest your capital on that basis." "All right," said Sam, clasping his knee in his hands and rocking gently. "If we can't organize on that basis we won't organize at all. We're in no hurry. My kid brother's handling it just now, anyhow. I'm on a vacation, the first I ever had, and not keen upon business, by any means. In the meantime, let me show you some figures." Five minutes later, Billy Westlake and his sister and Miss Hastings drew up to the edge of the group. Young Westlake stood diffidently for two or three minutes beside Mr. Turner's chair, and then he put his hand on that summer idler's shoulder. "Oh, good evening, Mr.--Mr.--Mr.--" Sam stammered while he tried to find the name. "Westlake," interposed Billy's father; and then, a trifle impatiently, "What do you want, Billy?" "Mr. Turner was to go over with us to the bowling shed, dad." "That's so," admitted Mr. Turner, glancing over to the porch rail where the girls stood expectantly in their fluffy white dresses, and nodding pleasantly at them, but not yet rising. He was in the midst of an important statement. "Just you run on with the girls, Billy," ordered Mr. Westlake. "Mr. Turner will be over in a few minutes." The others of the circle bent their eyes gravely upon Billy and the girls as they turned away, and waited for Mr. Turner to resume. At a quarter past ten, as Mr. Turner and Mr. Princeman walked slowly along the porch to turn into the parlors for a few minutes of music, of which Sam was very fond, a crowd of young people came trooping up the steps. Among them were Billy Westlake and his sister, another young gentleman and Miss Hastings. "By George, that bowling tournament!" exclaimed Mr. Turner. "I forgot all about it." He was about to make his apologies, but Miss Westlake and Miss Hastings passed right on, with stern, set countenances and their heads in air. Apparently they did not see Mr. Turner at all. He gazed after them in consternation; suddenly there popped into his mind the vision of a slender girl in green, with mischievous brown eyes--and he felt strangely comforted. Before retiring he wired his brother to send some samples of the marsh pulp, and the paper made from it. CHAPTER III MR. TURNER APPLIES BUSINESS PROMPTNESS TO A MATTER OF DELICACY