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 noticed that a young man in new gray coat and hat had approached.

"Oh, you!" Lucas recognized Barney. "Where's your uniform?" he demanded; but his emotions upon gazing at the city had been so deep that he could not at once transfer his thought even to this young man.

"I've seen that town flat as a burnt pancake, young fellow," he said with boastful reverie. "I steered a ship into that river there—when it was running the right way, not into the Mississippi—when there wasn't a roof between hell and heaven and they were camped like Indians on the ruins. But they had their nerve; they got about rebuilding; so they had to have wood—a city of wood right away. So we brought it to 'em. Some of the fools gave it away; yes, young fellow, those born fools took their ships to Muskegon and Manistee and Frankfort and Big Traverse and East Jordan and loaded up with good, clear white pine, such as you never saw, and sold it for the cost of cutting and carrying; nothing for the lumber at all. But some of us had some sense.—Well, young fellow, you came to call on me this afternoon; what about?"

Barney had not flattered himself with any thought that his appearance would bring the slightest evidence of dismay to Lucas Cullen; nevertheless the more than condescending—indeed casual—manner in which the old man met him disconcerted Barney for a moment. Also, he had not expected to speak to Lucas in such a spot as the end of the pier; yet they were quite alone, and there was no reason for not talking.

"I came to speak to you about Kincheloe," Barney said.

"Eh? Kincheloe?" Lucas repeated, attempting to convey surprise without the slightest concern but not