Mr. Gifford had known of the new rates, Mr. Turner could not have
bought those trees at the price he did, could he?"

"Certainly not," agreed her father. "He would have had to pay nearly a
thousand dollars more for them."

"Then that wasn't right of Mr. Turner," she asserted.

"My child," said Mr. Stevens wearily, "all business is conducted for a
profit, and the only way to get it is by keeping alive and knowing
things that other people will find out to-morrow. Sam Turner is the
shrewdest and the livest young man I've met in many a day, and he's
square as a die. I'd take his word on any proposition; wouldn't you?"

"Yes, I think I'd take his word," she admitted, and very positively,
after mature deliberation. "But truly, father, don't you think he's
too much concentrated on business? He hasn't a thought in his mind for
anything else. For instance, this morning he came over to take me an
automobile ride around Bald Hill, and when he found out about this
walnut grove, without either apology or explanation to me he ordered
the chauffeur to drive right down there."

"Fine," laughed her father. "I'd like to hire him for my manager, if I
could only offer him enough money. But I don't see your point of
criticism. It seems to me that he's a mighty presentable and likable
young fellow, good looking, and a gentleman in the sense in which I
like to use that word."

"Yes, he is all of those things," she admitted again; "but it is a flaw
in a young man, isn't it," she persisted, betraying an unusually
anxious interest, "for him never to think of a solitary thing but just
business?"

They were sitting in one of the alcoves of the assembly room, and at
that moment a bell-boy, wandering around the place with apparent
aimlessness, spied them and brought to Miss Josephine a big box. She
opened it and an exclamation of pleasure escaped her. In the box was a
huge bouquet of exquisite roses, soft and glowing, delicious in their
fragrance.

Impulsively she buried her face in them.

"Oh, how delightful!" she cried, and she drew out the white card which
peeped forth from amidst the stems. "They are from Mr. Turner!" she
gasped.

"You're quite right about him," commented her father dryly. "He's all
business."

CHAPTER VI

IN WHICH THE SUMMER LOAFER ORDERS SOME MARASCHINO CHOCOLATES

Before Sam had his breakfast the next morning, he sat in his room with
some figures with which Blackrock and Cuthbert had provid