and Mary Ann Pettigrew, both deceased. His attorneys are Mott, Drew &
Mott. They write that their client absolutely refuses to sell any land
anywhere. They have written that three times. They have declined to
discuss any proposition. And there you are."
"You mean," sneers Old Hickory, "that there you are."
"If you can suggest anything further," begins Ballinger, "we shall be
glad to--"
"I know," breaks in Old Hickory, "you'd be glad to fritter away another
six months and let those International Power people jump in ahead of
us. No, thanks. I mean to see if I can't get a little action now.
Robert, who have we out there in the office who's not especially busy?
Oh, yes, Torchy. I say, young man! You--Torchy!"
"Calling me, sir?" says I, slidin' out of my chair and into the next
room prompt.
Old Hickory nods.
"Find that man Pettigrew," says he, tossin' over the letter. "He owns
some land we need. There's a map of it, also a memorandum of what
we're willing to pay. Report to-morrow."
"Yes, sir," says I. "Want me to close the deal by noon?"
Maybe they didn't catch the flicker under them bushy eyebrows. But I
did, and I knew he was goin' to back my bluff.
"Any time before five will do," says he. "Wait! You'd better take a
check with you.
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