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Discounts had to be figured, extensions had to be made, figures had to be checked meticulously, and the whole thing eventually bound up in six or eight huge volumes which were then allowed to languish in the Company safe. He had been through it before. And the thought of it was intolerable. This was June. June and inventory and Mr. Boner seemed to him to be cut from the same piece.
"Have a surplus eleven thousand of them." Joe guiltily felt that the old man knew the stock books better than he himself. A little spot of red appeared in each cheek. Mr. Boner shoved two sheets of yellow paper across the desk toward him. "I've reordered replacement one thousand five one half, cancellation one thousand two one half." This with an air of satisfaction.
"They destroy systematically: one year the bark is stripped off, the wood dries, and the year after it is fired.... In 1862, near Toplitza, 23,000 joch of forest were burned by the peasantry." Judging from what I saw during my travels in Hungary in 1875-76, I should say the evil described by Mr Boner ten years before has in no way abated.
It was a sort of high-tension vigilance. Joe rose to his feet, obeying the monosyllabic summons, and followed Mr. Boner around the partition. Mr. Boner rated a private office, where he could worm information, trade secrets, and occasional concessions from travelling salesmen. There was nothing social about the place.
Dorothy gave him an exasperated glance and walked away. "I sure pulled a boner that time," Seaton muttered as he plucked at his hair ruefully. "It nearly did us. "Let's test this stuff out and see if it's X, Mart, while DuQuesne's out of the way. If it is X, it's SOME find!"
He languished on, indeed, for four years more, but he was a dying man, and he spent his time in writing books, his followers kindly ministering to him in his broken health and feebleness. The end came to him while visiting some convents at Maidstone good women, of course. "The one was Mrs. Frances, the eldest; the second, Mrs. Roberts; the third, Mrs. Boner. This Mrs.
It is impossible to travel twenty miles in the Southern Carpathians without encountering the terrible ravages committed by these people in the beautiful woods that adorn the sides of the mountains. "The Wallacks find it too much trouble to fell the trees," says Mr Boner.
Boner turned to the inner corner of the desk, started to speak, strangled, and with difficulty recovered himself. His voice, when finally he did recover it, was so loud that it startled even himself, and just as suddenly he lowered it to confidential pitch. Joe had been a witness to this procedure many times before but it never failed to interest him. In fact, Mr. Boner was himself a study.
Flangers, jull-ploughs, wedge ploughs tunnel wideners and a rotary? Here? Why I I thought better of you than that. We haven't had a snow in Missouri that would require all of those things, not in the last ten years. What did they cost?" "Eighty-three thousand, fi'hunnerd an' ten dollars," answered Martin gloomily. He had pulled a boner. Mr. Barstow figured on a sheet of paper.
Boner's eyes rolled slightly, showing the whites. "There's some trouble there. I'll have to go." A moment's pause. Mr. Boner cleared his throat. "All right," he said. And then he bent back over his work. He went and got his hat. With his hand on the swinging door he paused and looked back. Not a head was raised. In the air there hovered a droning, a rustling.
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