Thayor made no attempt to reply; he was listening as calmly as a lawyer to a defence.
"There are a lot of the boys here who think Bergstein is all right," Holcomb continued, "but neither Freme, Hite, nor myself liked his looks from the first. He's too mysterious in his movements—whanging off at night to catch a train and turning up again—sometimes before daylight."
"Yet you say he is a good worker," interrupted Thayor, settling in his chair.
"There isn't a lazy bone in him," confessed Holcomb. "He's all hustle, and smarter than a steel trap—that's why I put him in charge of the gang in the lower shanty—besides, I saw the boys wanted him."
"I must see Mr. Bergstein in the morning," was Thayor's reply.
"He left day before yesterday," said Holcomb. "He told me an uncle of his had died in Montreal; he'll be back, he said, in three or four days."
"Ah, indeed," said Thayor with a nod. "I trust we are all mistaken in the fellow. You know, my boy," he said turning suddenly about, "we must all learn to be tolerant of others—of their ignorance. I've found in life a true philosophy in this. It's my creed, Billy—'Be tolerant of others, even of those who at times seem intolerable to you.'"
Holcomb was not the man to censure another without the strength of his conviction. He had been frank in giving his opinion of Bergstein, since Thayor had put the question point blank to him. Their talk before the fire had been a genial one, save for this somewhat unpleasant subject, yet despite Thayor's kindly optimism in regard to Bergstein, owing purely to his excellent recommendation, Holcomb felt a distrust of the mysterious stranger who had wormed his way into Big Shanty. He could not help being personally convinced that the vice-president of the Canadian company was either a rascal or a man of poor judgment. It was also possible that the said vice-president had never seen Bergstein at all.
CHAPTER TEN
Two nights later Holcomb again bade Thayor good-night in the square room with its heavy-beamed ceiling. All the accounts had now been gone over—even to the minutest detail, and Billy felt supremely happy and relieved at his employer's enthusiastic approval of all he had done, so much so that even the one discordant note—Bergstein—seemed of vague importance.