Rice's mill was a long, narrow building built on spiling, and fronting the river. To one side was a pond and yard for extra lumber, and to the rear was a dry kiln. At the front were large, double doors, and from these there was a runway or slide, reaching down into the water. Up this slide were hauled the logs to be cut up for various purposes.
The noise around a mill was familiar to Owen's ears, yet the volume here was greater than he had ever heard before. There was the hum of the saws, the hiss of the planes, and the constant clank-clank so inseparably connected with all mills of this nature. Inside, the sawdust and small shavings were everywhere in evidence, and beams and rafters were coated with a white dust as fine as flour. Patent pipes and suction fans carried the large shavings to the furnaces, and scoops took the sawdust to a pit near by. It was a hot place, and the majority of the workmen wore nothing but their shirts, trousers, and shoes.
"Like to look through, eh?" said the proprietor, after Owen's business was concluded. "All right, go ahead. Or, wait a few minutes and I'll go with you. We've just been setting up a new shingle machine, and she's a dandy," he added enthusiastically.
Accordingly Owen waited around the office while Mr. Rice attended to several orders which a clerk had brought up for his inspection. The majority seemed to be satisfactory, but one order was peremptorily turned down.
"Write to Foxy Hildan and tell him flatly that we can't fill that order unless we get a guarantee for the payment," Owen heard Philip Rice say. "I trusted that man once and got stuck, and I shan't do it again."
"He was here day before yesterday and said it would be all right," answered the clerk, in a low voice.
"Here? I didn't see him."
"It was after you went away. I wanted him to come back and see you about it, but he was in a hurry to get up to Tunley and see Balasco—said it was something important."
"Is he coming back this way?"
"No, he said he was going on further after his stop at Tunley."