Greenleaf started for the office as though he had been in that camp all his life. The office, as in all camps, was a combination of wanigan, or store, and office. In there they found the foreman patching up some torn harness. He did not seem to see them come in, and paid not the slightest attention to them; he still busied himself with the harness. Greenleaf leaned carelessly against the counter watching the operation. When this had continued for about five minutes Scott began to wonder why Greenleaf did not present the letter they had brought, but he waited patiently, feeling his greenness.
At the end of about ten minutes the foreman straightened up to have a look at them. Greenleaf, who knew the breed perfectly, continued to look at the harness in silence as though it were the most interesting thing he had ever seen. The foreman looked him quietly over for several minutes before he gruffly demanded,
“What do you want?”
“I have a letter for you from the boss,” Greenleaf said, handing it over.
The foreman read it carefully, and then without looking up, “Go over to the cookshack and get lunch.”
The boys went out. “I thought I could make him talk first,” Greenleaf chuckled.
“What were you waiting for?” Scott asked.
“Never speak to one of those fellows first,” Greenleaf admonished him. “If we had piped right up as soon as we went in there he would have kept us waiting an hour before he read that letter. Now he knows we’re not greenhorns and respects us.”
Going into the cookshack was a good deal like going down a cellar. There were only four small windows which shed a very dim light over the big room. Down the center were two long oilcloth-covered tables set with about a hundred tin cups and tin plates with knives and forks to match. Sugar and spoons were found in tomato cans at intervals. About every six feet there was an immense salt shaker, a bottle of vinegar and a bottle of catsup.
At the end of these tables under a skylight was an enormous kitchen range with two barrels rigged up for hot water boilers and flanked by a big sink and a sort of serving counter. On one side was a giant breadboard built in over the flour bin. It was the strangest looking dining-room Scott had ever seen.