in the construction of fruit trays and boxes.
When he approached Welton on the subject, the lumberman was little
inclined to be receptive to the idea.

"That's all very well, Merker," said he, impatiently; "I don't doubt
it's just as you say, and there's a lot of good tray and box material
going to waste. So, too, I don't doubt there's lots of material for
toothpicks and matches and wooden soldiers and shingles and all sorts of
things in our slashings. The only trouble is that I'm trying to run a
big lumber company. I haven't time for all that sort of little monkey
business. There's too much detail involved in it."

"Yes, sir," said Merker, and withdrew.

About two weeks later, however, he reappeared, towing after him an
elderly, bearded farmer and a bashful-looking, hulking youth.

"This is Mr. Lee," said Merker, "and he wants to make arrangements with
you to set up a little cleat and box-stuff mill, and use from your
dump."

Mr. Lee, it turned out, had been sent up by an informal association of
the fruit growers of the valley. Said informal association had been
formed by Merker through the mails. The store-keeper had submitted such
convincing figures that Lee had been dispatched to see about it. It
looked cheaper in the long run to send up a spare harvesting engine, to
buy a saw, and to cut up box and tray stuff than to purchase these
necessities from the regular dealers. Would Mr. Welton negotiate? Mr.
Welton did. Before long the millmen were regaled by the sight of a
snorting little upright engine connected by a flapping, sagging belt to
a small circular saw. Two men and two boys worked like beavers. The
racket and confusion, shouts, profanity and general awkwardness were
something tremendous. Nevertheless, the pile of stock grew, and every
once in a while six-horse farm wagons from the valley would climb the
mountain to take away box material enough to pack the fruit of a whole
district. To Merker this was evidently a profound satisfaction. Often he
would vary his usual between-customer reverie by walking out on his
shaded verandah, where he would lean against an upright, nursing the
bowl of his pipe, gazing across the sawdust to the diminutive and
rackety box-plant in the distance.

Welton, passing one day, laughed at him.

"How about your economic waste, Merker?" he called. "Two good men could
turn out three times the stuff all that gang does in about half the
time."

"There are no two good men for that