hing
was punctuated by keen remarks from Clark, who shot out answers to
every imaginable question with extraordinary facility. They walked up
the swiftly flowing head race while the general manager pointed out its
proposed expansion, and explained the pressing need for diverting more
water from the rapids. As they progressed it seemed there was always
more to discover. They inspected great rafts of logs, fresh from the
waters of Lake Superior, then came to timber mills and machine shops.
And with all Clark was supremely familiar. In the middle of it Riggs
volunteered that he was tired, so they trailed back to the private
office in the administration building, where Clark unrolled maps and
pointed out colored areas of pulp wood which were tributary to the
mills, and had been compiled from the reports of his explorers.

Suddenly Birch put out a long forefinger. "What's that?"

"That," said Clark cheerfully, "is a railway."

Birch looked puzzled. "I didn't know a road ran north from here."

"It doesn't--yet--but it's something we'll have to consider very soon
to bring in pulp wood."

"Oh!" Wimperley's voice was a trifle indignant.

"It's another matter to discuss when you feel like it," went on Clark
imperturbably. "The road won't cost us anything."

"Won't it? Then it will be the first thing we have touched of its
kind." Wimperley tried to speak lightly.

"The Federal Government bonus will pay for one-third, the provincial
bonus for another, which leaves us about seven hundred thousand to take
care of. There should be no difficulty in getting that out of the sale
of lands we will develop. However," he added evenly, "we needn't worry
about it just now. And, by the way, I had an inquiry yesterday for
forty thousand horse power. Of course we haven't got it to spare, at
least not at the moment. Now will you excuse me for just a moment?"

He stepped into the general office and shut the door softly behind him.
Wimperley glanced inquiringly at Stoughton.

"You haven't done much ramming this morning!"

"No, I'm not just in the mood. How about you?" Stoughton turned to
Birch.

The latter did not reply. His cold eyes were taking in the severe
fittings of the private office, whose walls were covered with maps and
blue prints. The truth was that the spell of Clark's extraordinary
intelligence was beginning to fall over them once more. It was so
obvious that he was the center of the whole affair, and