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Lee," said Merker, "and he wants to make arrangements with you to set up a little cleat and box-stuff mill, and use from your dump." Mr. Lee, it turned out, had been sent up by an informal association of the fruit growers of the valley. Said informal association had been formed by Merker through the mails.
"Lord, no!" cried Welton fervently. "The sawdust ought to make something," continued Merker. "But I am unable to discover a practical use for it." He indicated the great yellow mound that each day increased. "Yes, I got to get a burner for it," said Welton, "it'll soon swamp us." "There might be power in it," mused Merker. "A big furnace, now " "For heaven's sake, man, what for?" demanded Welton.
"I won't have that crew around here, and I won't have my employees confabbing with them. I don't care what you tell them, or how you fix it, but you keep them out of here. Understand? I hate the sight of one of those fellows worse than a poison-snake!" Merker glanced from Welton to the ranger and back again perplexed. "But but " he stammered. "I've known Ross Fletcher a long time. What can I say "
Why does he say he does all this?" "He likes the mountains. He well, he just believes in it." "I see. Are there any more of these altruists? or is he the only bird of the species?" Merker caught the irony of Bob's tone. "They don't amount to much, in general," he admitted. "But there's a few they keep the torch lit."
"Oh, yes. I never happened to run across him. Don't know him at all." Bob put down Oldham's manifest hatred to pettiness of disposition. Even from Merker, the philosophic storekeeper, Bob obtained scant comfort. "Men like you, with ability, youth, energy," said Merker, "producing nothing, just conserving, saving.
So unprecedented was the present condition that Bob, after hesitating a moment, dismounted and approached. Merker was staring at his chief with wide and astonished eyes, and plucking nervously at his brown beard. "Why, that is Ross Fletcher," he gasped. "We were just talking about the economic waste in the forests. He is a good man. He isn't lazy. He " "Economic waste hell!" exploded Welton.
"Two good men could turn out three times the stuff all that gang does in about half the time." "There are no two good men for that job," replied Merker unmoved. His large, cowlike eyes roved across the yards. "Men grow in a generation; trees grow in ten," he resumed with unexpected directness. "I have calculated that of a great tree but 40 per cent. is used.
He refused to accept more than one statement at a time, to consider more than one person at a time, or to do more than one thing at a time. "Gim'me five pounds of beans, two of sugar, and half a pound of tea!" demanded Mrs. Max. Merker deliberately laid aside his pipe, deliberately moved down the aisle behind his counter, deliberately filled his scoop, deliberately manipulated the scales.
He then removed him to Anspach, and remained his protector until his death in December, 1833. The day after his burial, Stanhope appeared in Anspach, and took particular pains to proclaim then, and subsequently at a judicial investigation in Munich, and in several tracts, his belief that Caspar was an impostor. This had already been maintained by Merker, the Prussian Counsellor of Police.
"That's all very well, Merker," said he, impatiently; "I don't doubt it's just as you say, and there's a lot of good tray and box material going to waste. So, too, I don't doubt there's lots of material for toothpicks and matches and wooden soldiers and shingles and all sorts of things in our slashings. The only trouble is that I'm trying to run a big lumber company.
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