eyes of his watchin' me amused and curious. But the scare I'm tryin'
to throw into him don't seem to take effect at all.

"Let's see," says he, as we rolls onto the Fort Lee ferry, "just what
is your official position with the Corrugated?"

I'd planned to shoot it at him bold and crushin'. But somehow it don't
happen that way.

"Head office boy," says I, blushin' apologizin'; "but Mr. Ellins sent
me out himself."

"Indeed?" says he. "Another of his original ideas. A brilliant man,
Mr. Ellins."

"He's some stayer in a scrap, believe me!" says I. "And he's got the
harpoon out for this Palisades road."

"So have a good many others," says Mr. Sturgis, chucklin'. "In fact, I
don't mind admitting that I am as near to being beaten on this
enterprise as I've ever been on anything in any life. But if I am
beaten, it will not be by Mr. Ellins. It will be by a hard-headed old
Scotch farmer who owns sixty acres of scrubby land which I must cross
in order to complete my right of way. He won't sell a foot. I've been
trying for six months to get in touch with him; but he's as stubborn as
a cedar stump. And if I don't run a car over rails before next June my
charter lapses. So I'm going up now to try a personal interview. If I
fail, my charter isn't worth a postage stamp. But, win or lose, it
isn't for sale to Hickory Ellins."