said Orde; "we hadn't thought of doing more than the driving
and distributing. You'll have to deliver the logs in the river. Maybe
another year, after we get better organised, we'll be able to break
rollways--at a price per thousand--but until we get a-going we'll have
to rush her through."

Orde repeated this to his associate.

"That was smooth enough sailing," he exulted.

"Yes," pondered Newmark, removing his glasses and tapping his thumb with
their edge. "Yes," he repeated, "that was smooth sailing. What was that
about rollways?"

"Oh, I told him we'd expect him to break out his own," said Orde.

"Yes, but what does that mean exactly?"

"Why," explained Orde, with a slight stare of surprise, "when the
logs are cut and hauled during the winter, they are banked on the
river-banks, and even in the river-channel itself. Then, when the thaws
come in the spring, these piles are broken down and set afloat in the
river."

"I see," said Newmark. "Well, but why shouldn't we undertake that part
of it? I should think that would he more the job of the river-drivers."

"It would hold back our drive too much to have to stop and break
rollways," explained Orde.

The next morning they took the early train for Monrovia, where were
situated the big mills and the offices of the nine other lumber
companies. Within an hour they had descended at the small frame terminal
station, and were walking together up the village street.

Monrovia was at that time a very spread-out little place of perhaps two
thousand population. It was situated a half mile from Lake Michigan,
behind the sparsely wooded sand hills of its shore. From the river,
which had here grown to a great depth and width, its main street ran
directly at right angles. Four brick blocks of three stories lent
impressiveness to the vista. The stores in general, however, were low
frame structures. All faced broad plank sidewalks raised above the
street to the level of a waggon body. From this main street ran off,
to right and left, other streets, rendered lovely by maple trees that
fairly met across the way. In summer, over sidewalk and roadway alike
rested a dense, refreshing dark shadow that seemed to throw from itself
an odour of coolness. This was rendered further attractive by the
warm spicy odour of damp pine that arose from the resilient surface of
sawdust and shingles broken beneath the wheels of traffic. Back
from these trees, in wide, well-cultivated lawns, stood