They found it--as
Farrell had agreed with Renton in expecting--to be no forest,
scarcely even a grove, but a mere patch, and the timber a "sport"
though an exceedingly beautiful one. On their return to Limon
Farrell wrote out a careful report. The wood was priceless.
It deserved a new genius to design a new style of inlay for it.
Given that, with the very pink of artists among cabinet-makers and a
knowledgeable man to put the furniture on the market, a reasonable
fortune was to be made. With skill it could be propagated: but for
two generations and longer it must depend on its rarity. He added
some suggestions for propagating it and wound up, "Turn these over,
for what they are worth, to someone who understands this climate and
is botanist as well as nurseryman. It won't profit you or me, Ned;
and we've no children. Mr. Weekes has, though"--Weekes was the
skipper--"and his grandchildren ought to have something to inherit.
I'd hate to die and think that such stuff was being lost to the
trade. But for the standing timber, anyway, there's only one word.
Pages:
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290