“S’pose you bought them new boots?” inquired Gillis.
Blackie forced a laugh. “Goin’ to git them next time, Jack,” he continued, moving closer to his big boss; “say, Jack, you know that I send twenty dollars to my mother back east ev’ry month. I—I——”
“All right, Blackie,” said Gillis gently, “I’ll advance it to you.”
“Thanks, Jack, you’re a good pal,” commended Blackie in a relieved tone.
Donald and Gillis walked down the hill to inspect the logs in the boom, and as they walked Gillis indulged in some pointed observations. “You know, Donnie, that these loggers are game guys to come back after spendin’ all their money and say: ‘We had a good time, so we ain’t worryin’.’ The man ain’t human that won’t worry after spendin’ in a few days the money it’s taken him six months to earn swingin’ an axe an’ draggin’ a saw. Still, they hide their remorse under a grin and tell of what a good time they’ve had. So many people think that loggers spend all their money for booze. ’Tain’t so. That gang of mine give away about half their money to bums around town. I have seen Blackie give away twenty bucks at a time.”
As they passed the high-rigger’s little cabin, Gillis poked his head through the door. Blackie was absorbed in the task of sewing a patch on a pair of worn boots. A mournful wind blew querulously around the cabin.
“Say, Blackie, do you know what that wind is saying?”
Blackie grunted a negative.
“Here’s what it’s a sayin’,” said Gillis as he puckered his lips: “O-o-o-o-h! W-h-e-e-r-r-e-e has your summer wages gone! O-o-o-h! W-h-e-r-r-e-e has your summer——”
Gillis dodged back as a boot came whizzing past his head.