“He says of course they are.” Haig had difficulty in restraining a gleeful smile. “Any fool knows that, he says.”
“Oh hell, then.” The O.C. shrugged. “What can you do?”
Monsieur Gladu spoke a little more quickly. “He says,” Haig reported, “that he does know one stand not far from here where there is excellent spruce and pine. It could, he thinks, survive a few weeks cutting at eight or ten thousand feet a day. If you will deal with it humanely, according to good practice, it will replenish itself and endure.”
“That’s great!” the O.C. said heartily. “That’s exactly the kind of thing Monsieur here can help us with. Hell! I don’t care what he says. I’ve got as much respect as anybody.”
“He says, sir, that if he helps you must restrict the cut to ten thousand feet at the most.”
“God damn
