"I aint paying no shirkers in my camp," said John Hoover. "Every man who gets a full day's pay must work for it."
"You'd better let 'em go to bed now, John," said his wife. "They've traveled so much that if you don't they won't be worth a cent for work to-morrow—and I suppose you're going to start 'em right off, aint you?"
"To be sure," answered the husband. "I aint wasting a whole day for nothing."
The bedroom turned over to the young lumbermen was furnished with nothing but a wide bunk, and a long, rough bench. On one wall hung a swinging shelf made of a rough board three feet long. There was nothing on the floor, and the mattress in the bunk was old and smelt musty. For a light they were given about an inch of a tallow candle stuck on top of a tin candlestick.
"This beats the hotels, doesn't it?" remarked Owen sarcastically. "Dale, I hope you don't remain awake to-night thinking of your elegant surroundings."
"Well, I suppose it might be worse—if somebody tried real hard to make it so," responded Dale dryly.
"They'd have to try mighty hard, I can tell you that. Do you know how long this will suit me?"
"About ten years."
"About ten hours."
"Why, you act as if you were disappointed."