“In the fall, Joe?”
“No—right away. What’s the use of waiting? My business will be solid then, and I deserve a holiday. Let’s take one together.”
“Well”—she considered the question gravely, without affected hesitation—“I’d like that. I’ll see what dad says about it.”
“It’s up to you.”
“Yes—I know. Still, we’d better not leave him out.”
“I don’t want to. He’s as good a friend as I have. What he says goes, of course; but he won’t object if you don’t.”
“I won’t.” Suddenly she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. “Oh, Joe, you’ve got to deliver those logs! You’ve got to, you’ve got to!”
“Jack,” he said grimly, “I’d deliver ’em now if the whole blamed river dried up. Come down to-morrow and see them go through. We’ll cut out enough to run the mill, but the main drive will go straight ahead and I’m going with it. I’ll wire you as soon as we strike Burritt’s Rapids. I can tell then how it’s going to go.”
“Do you think I’ll stay here?” she cried. “Dad and I are going down to see the drive come into Wismer & Holden’s booms. You’ll probably see us at Thirty Mile.”
The sun was barely risen when the first logs of the big drive swung down leisurely, their pace accelerating as the faster current above the falls gripped them. This vanguard was run into Kent’s booms, and the rivermen cheered as they caught sight of the young boss, and cheered again for William Crooks and his daughter who stood beside him. They ran gaily along the slippery brown logs and danced lightly across their backs, pushing, pulling, prodding, guiding and restraining, and the booms filled magically.