"Eight or ten years ago McNabb bought options on
a half million acres of pulp-wood lying between two certain rivers. He
sent for me--said he heard I was out of a job, and that as he was the
one that was responsible for my losing out, it was only fair that he
should offer me another. Then he went on to outline the whole
proposition, told me the options expired on August first; then he was
called out of the office for a minute and asked me to look over the
maps and papers and let him know if I wanted to tackle it or not.
"In going over the contract, I found that the options expire on July
first, instead of August first, as he said. It was then I called you
up, for the whole scheme hit me like a flash. Don't you see it? If I
worked for him, I'd draw a salary, and a good one--and nothing more.
But if I should interest sufficient capital to step in on the first day
of July when those options expire, and buy up the whole tract, where
would McNabb be?"
Orcutt tapped thoughtfully upon his desk pad with the tip of his
pencil. "I wonder," he muttered aloud, more to himself than to
Wentworth, "I wonder if John has made a slip at last?"
"That is just what he has done! And he is so cocksure of his ground
that he didn't even glance at the papers to refresh his memory--I doubt
if he has looked at them since he made the deal."
The banker eyed the younger man shrewdly.
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