"It's because you think you've got us in a hole," breaks in Old Hickory. "We've got to load our boats and you control the docks."
"Oh, yes!" chuckles Marcus T. "An unfortunate situation--for you. But I presume there are other dockage facilities available."
"If there were," says Mr. Ellins sarcastic, "do you think we would be paying you from three to five millions a year?"
"Bixby, I fear you must explain our position more fully," goes on Mr. Runyon.
"Oh, certainly," says Bixby. "I will have a full report prepared and----"
"Suppose you tell it to my secretary now," insists Old Hickory, glarin' menacin' at him.
"Why--er--you see," says Bixby, turnin' to me, "as I understand the case, the only outlet you have to deep water is over our tracks to----"
"What about them docks at Three Harbors?" I cuts in.
"Three Harbors?" repeats Bixby, starin' vague.
"Precisely," says Marcus T. "As the young man suggests, there is plenty of unemployed dockage at that point. But your ore tracks do not connect with that port."
"They would if we laid forty miles of rails, branchin' off at Tamarack Junction," says I. "That spur has all been surveyed and the right of way cleared."
"Ah!" exclaims Bixby, comin' to life again. "I remember now. Tamarack Junction. We hold a charter for a railroad from there to Three Harbors."
"It lapsed," says I, "eighteen months ago. Here's a copy, O. K.'d by a Minnesota notary public. See the date?"
"Allow me," says Mr. Runyon, reachin' for it.
Old Hickory gets up and rubbers over his shoulder. "By George!" says he. "It has lapsed, Runyon. Torchy, where's a map of----"
"Here you are," says I. "You'll see the branch line sketched in there. That would cut our haul about fifteen miles."
"And leave you with a lot of vacant ore docks on your hands, eh, Runyon?" puts in Old Hickory. "We could have those rails laid by the time the ice was out of the Soo. Well, well! Throws rather a new light on the situation, doesn't it?"
Marcus T. turns slow and fixes them keen eyes of his on Bixby the Busy.
"Hm-m-m!" says he. "It seems that we have overlooked a point, Bixby. Perhaps, though, you can offer----"
He can. Some shifty private sec, Bixby is.
"Your milk, sir," says he, grabbin' the tray and shovin' it in front of Runyon.