"As soon as those logs over yonder are cut up." The owner of the sawmill kicked a block of wood out of his way rather savagely. "It's a shame not to get logs, with so much timber cut ready to use."
"The pulp mill is what's done it," replied Dale. "They have a big contract to fill, so I was told over in Oldtown, and so they are willing to pay big prices for any sort of stuff."
"You're right, Bradford. They'll buy little sticks that we couldn't afford to handle."
"What we've got on hand won't keep us going longer than Saturday," continued Dale, gazing around at the small pile of logs resting partly in and partly out of the stream upon which the sawmill was situated.
"Just about Saturday."
"And there's no telling when we'll be able to start up again, I suppose."
"Just as soon as I can get hold of the stuff to go ahead with. I don't like to have the mill idle any more than you or the others like to be out of work."
"I'll have to get something to do pretty quick," said Dale earnestly. "I can't live on nothing."
"You ought to have something saved."
"A fellow can't save much out of six dollars a week, Mr. Larson. Besides, I've been paying off that little debt my father left when he died."