GIBSON: Who is it?... Wait a minute! [_He takes a pad and writes_]:
"Central Associated Lumber Companies." ... Wait a minute. [_Looks at a
slip in a pigeonhole of his desk._] Oh, yes, you called me yesterday....
This is Mr. Ragsdale?... No, no, Mr. Ragsdale, I don't think I'm going
to do any business with you. You asked me forty-eight dollars a thousand
on 200,000 feet.... No, your coming down half a dollar a thousand won't
do it.... I say seventeen cents won't do it.... Hold the wire a minute.
[_Looks for letter in pigeonhole, but finds it in his inside pockets.
Then he holds it open, looking at it beside the telephone as he
speaks._] Hello!... No; I was right; there's nothing doing, Mr.
Ragsdale, I know where I can get that 200,000 feet at forty-five
dollars.... I say I know where I can get that lumber at forty-five
dollars.... No; I can get it. There won't be any use for you to call up
again.... Good-bye!

[_He paces the floor again thoughtfully, then abruptly goes to
the factory door; opens it and calls._]

GIBSON: Miss Gorodna!

[NORA _appears in the doorway. She looks at him with
disapproving inquiry; then walks in and closes the door. He
goes to his desk and touches the rose._]

GIBSON: Why didn't you take it this morning? That poor little rosebed in
my yard at home; it's just begun to brighten up. I suppose it thought it
was going to send you a June rose every day, as it did last June. You
don't want it?

NORA [_gently, but not abating her attitude_]: No, thank you!