King Spruce, A Novel

the riven logs bathing him--the timber baron politely waited for the young man to speak. He had put off the brusqueness of his business demeanor, for it had not occurred to him that the principal of the Stillwater high school could have any financial errand. He played a little tattoo with his eye-glasses' rim upon the second button of his frock-coat. One touch of sunshine on Barrett's cheek showed up striated markings and the faint purpling that indulgence paints upon the skin. The way in which the shoulders were set back under the tightly buttoned frock-coat, the flashing of the keen eyes, and even the cock of the bristly gray mustache that crossed the face in a straight line showed that John Barrett had enjoyed the best that life had to offer him.

"I'll make my errand a short one, Mr. Barrett," began Wade, "for I see that others are waiting."

"They're only men who want to buy something," said the baron, reassuringly--"men who have come, the whole of them, with the same growl and whine. It's a