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 his sharp features were set as graven stone and Harrington felt that recessed gaze sifting him—sifting almost as if it doubted. "Hum! That is a coincidence," he said eventually; then shifted the subject of his inquiries. "Quackenbaugh tells me that you . . . were unsuccessful with the Indian?"

Henry flushed but squared manfully to the admission. "Couldn't budge him, Mr. Boland. The Indian is stubborn and simply stood on his rights. There is nothing more that can be done. You will have to build your shingle mill somewhere else."

Mr. Boland's caverned eyes blinked behind their glasses. "You think so!" was his dry comment. But immediately he smiled. "Unfortunate," he ejaculated, "but don't let that worry you. That's a minor matter for Quackenbaugh and Scanlon to work out. The important question is"—Mr. Boland wet an eager lip—"have you made any progress on the Shell Point project? Any start yet?"

Henry's face lighted. "More—much more than a start, Mr. Boland," he assured with enthusiasm. "Miss Marceau, teacher of the Indian School, is committed to the project heart and soul. She has been sounding the Indians out already and feels certain they're going to be favorable."

Mr. Boland's tight features relaxed in a beatific smile. "I suppose knowledge of the Hurricane Island affair will leak out among the Indians and it probably won't do your influence any harm that you didn't crowd this fellow Adam John?" said Old Two Blades.

"Miss Marceau says that it will help us," responded Harrington eagerly, "that the Indians will think Adam John is a fool."