In twelve months he had crystallised the dreams and projects of his predecessor in the chair he was now occupying.  In twelve months he had built up the shell of the great combination of groundwood and paper mills which was to have such far-reaching effect upon the paper trade of the world.  And now, ahead of him was spread out the sea of finance upon which he must next embark.  He felt that already giant’s work had been done.  But his yearning could never be satisfied by a mere measure of completion.  He must embrace it all, complete it all.

Already he seemed to have lived with bankers and financial specialists, but he felt it was only the beginning of that which he had yet to do.  He was unappalled.  He was more than confident.  He had discovered unguessed faculties for finance in himself.  He had surprised himself as well as those others with whom he had come in contact.  They had discovered in him all that which Father Adam had been so prompt to realise.  They had found in him a young, untrained mind, untrained in their own calling, whose natural aptitude was amazing, and whose courage and confidence were beyond words.  But greatest of all was the perception he displayed.  They realised he never required the telling of more than half the story.  Intuition and inspiration completed it for him without the labour of their words.  The result of those twelve months was there for all to see.  The lumberman had been translated into a hard, fighting, business man.

The train of the man’s thought was broken by the unceremonious entry of Bat Harker.  Bull turned.  One swift glance into the grizzled face warned him his associate’s mood was by no means easy.  He, like everyone who came into contact with Bat, had learned to appreciate the volcanic fires burning under the lumberman’s exterior.

Bull promptly fended any storm that might possibly be brewing.  He held up his telegram and his eyes were smiling.

“The Skandinavia’s on the move,” he cried.  And Bat recognised the battle note in the tone.

“How?”

Bull flung the message across the desk.

“The Skandinavia’s representative is arriving on the Myra,” he said.  Then he added, “Elas Peterman says so.”

“What for?”

Bat had picked up the message and stood reading it.

The other searched amongst his papers.

“I kind of forgot putting you wise before,” he said.  “There were two letters came along a week back.  One was from Elas Peterman, of the Skandinavia folk, and the other from Father Adam.  That message was ’phoned on from the headland.  The letters didn’t just concern a deal, so I set ’em aside.  This message is different.”

For the moment the affairs down at the recreation room were forgotten, and Bat contented himself with the interest of the moment.

“How?” he demanded again in his sharp way.

Bull laughed.