away with me the other day, but in my soul I knew that I was wrong to do it. We've got to peck along slowly, making up a few cars at a time as we get the money and the orders, and watch how the cat's going to jump. We stand to make a lot of money on those orders you got."
"A lot?" he asked suspiciously. "What do you mean—a lot?"
"Ten thousand dollars or so—maybe twenty."
George coughed disdainfully and twitched impatient shoulders. "Ten thousand—twenty thousand dollars isn't anything, Mr. Morris," he announced. "I see this business in terms of millions. Millions, Mr. Morris!"
The older man gazed in silence, surprise mingling with a slight sense of irritation. The boy ought to know when he was beaten. Instead, he was bristling to argue—and the same old arguments.
"You know what Olds did last year and what he is doing this year. Besides that, Ford actually sold six hundred and seventy-four of that chicken-chaser of his, and now a lot of others are rushing into production."
"They're all nuts, every one of 'em," insisted Milton Morris testily.
"You couldn't call Henry Leland a nut, and he's into this Cadillac thing with all his heart," urged George.
"And you couldn't call Olds or Ford nuts,
