"Sometimes,
between Packards, business is hell. It'd be that for you. I've
started out to get this outfit an' I'd get it. An' doin' it I'd be
wastin' my time besides breakin' you all to smithereens. Better drop
it."
Steve had hardly expected this. But he answered calmly, even lightly.
"I think I'd like a try at holding it."
"That's two things," old man Packard said crisply. "Number three is
this here: Blenham tells, me you've put Royce in as foreman under you?"
"I offered him the place. He could have it yet if he wanted it. But
he refused. I've passed the job on to a man named Barbee."
"Barbee!" cried the old man. "Barbee! That yellow canary-bird?
Meaning him?"
"Yes," retorted Steve a trifle stiffly. "Anything wrong with him?"
"I didn't roll them fifty miles to talk about jay-birds an'
canary-birds an' such," growled his grandfather. "But here's one thing
I've got to say: This ranch is goin' to be mine real soon; that's in
the cards, face up. It's as good as mine now. I've been runnin' it
myself for six months. I want it right, hear me? What do you know
about running a big outfit? What does a kid without whiskers like
Barbee know about it? Think I want it all run down in the heel when it
comes to me? No, sir! I don't. Blenham knows the lay of the land,
Blenham knows my ways, Blenham knows how to run things.
Pages:
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83