“No, you don’t, Bryce.  I’ve never told you, but I’ll tell you now the real reason.  Humboldt County has no rail connection with the outside world, so we are forced to ship our lumber by water.  But some day a railroad will be built in from the south—­from San Francisco; and when it comes, the only route for it to travel is through our timber in the San Hedrin Valley.  I’ve accumulated that ten thousand acres for you, my son, for the railroad will never be built in my day.  It may come in yours, but I have grown weary waiting for it, and now that my hand is forced, I’m going to start logging there.  It doesn’t matter, son.  You will still be logging there fifty years from now.  And when the railroad people come to you for a right of way, my boy, give it to them.  Don’t charge them a cent.  It has always been my policy to encourage the development of this county, and I want you to be a forward-looking, public-spirited citizen.  That’s why I’m sending you East to college.  You’ve been born and raised in this town, and you must see more of the world.  You mustn’t be narrow or provincial, because I’m saving up for you, my son, a great many responsibilities, and I want to educate you to meet them bravely and sensibly.”

He paused, regarding the boy gravely and tenderly.  “Bryce, lad,” he said presently, “do you ever wonder why I work so hard and barely manage to spare the time to go camping with you in vacation time?”

“Why don’t you take it easy, Dad?  You do work awfully hard, and I have wondered about it.”

“I have to work hard, my son, because I started something a long time ago, when work was fun.  And now I can’t let go.  I employ too many people who are dependent on me for their bread and butter.  When they plan a marriage or the building of a home or the purchase of a cottage organ, they have to figure me in on the proposition.  I didn’t have a name for the part I played in these people’s lives until the other night when I was helping you with your algebra.  I’m the unknown quantity.”

“Oh, no,” Bryce protested.  “You’re the known quantity.”

Cardigan smiled.  “Well, maybe I am,” he admitted.  “I’ve always tried to be.  And if I have succeeded, then you’re the unknown quantity, Bryce, because some day you’ll have to take my place; they will have to depend upon you when I am gone.  Listen to me, son.  You’re only a boy, and you can’t understand everything I tell you now, but I want you to remember what I tell you, and some day understanding will come to you.  You mustn’t fail the people who work for you—­who are dependent upon your strength and brains and enterprises to furnish them with an opportunity for life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.  When you are the boss of Cardigan’s mill, you must keep the wheels turning; you must never shut down the mill or the logging-camps in dull times just to avoid a loss you can stand better than your employees.”

His hard, trembling old hand closed over the boy’s.  “I want you to be a brave and honourable man,” he concluded.