“No opening whatever. We laid off four men last week, and we’re going to lay off four more this coming Saturday.”
The clerk went on figuring, and in silence Andy withdrew. He had had a walk of nearly five miles for nothing. Was it any wonder that he was disheartened?
“It’s the same story everywhere,” he told himself, as he moved away slowly. “I might tramp to the Elroy place—that’s six miles from here—but what’s the use? I’ll wear out boot-leather for nothing. I guess Uncle Si and I will have to pull up stakes or starve.”
Not knowing what else to do, Andy walked along to where a number of men were at work. Just then the twelve o’clock whistle sounded, and the workers “knocked off” for their midday meal.
“Hello, Andy!” sung out a cheery voice, and, turning, the boy saw a brawny chopper named Bill Carrow approaching. Carrow had once worked with Mr. Graham, and knew the son fairly well.
“Hello,” returned the youth. “Going to feed the inner man?” and he smiled.
“That’s what, son. How are you?” And the lumberman shook hands.
“Fairly well, but I’d feel better if I had a job.”
“Out of work, eh? That’s too bad. I don’t suppose there is any opening here.”
“The clerk said there wasn’t any—said they were discharging hands instead of taking ’em on.”