“Right! How is it, men?”
“Thirteen six and a half!” came back the replies, after each man had assured himself.
“Now bring me a clean, dry plank, Captain Joe,” said Sanford. “That’s too small,” as the captain held out the short piece containing the record. Clean planks were scarce on the cement-stained work; dry ones were never found.
Everybody went in search of a suitable plank. Carleton looked on at this pantomime with a curl on his lips, and now and then a little shiver of uncertain fear creeping over him. Sanford’s quiet, determined manner puzzled him.
“What’s all this circus about?” he broke out impatiently.
“One minute, Mr. Carleton. I want to make a record which will be big enough for the men to sign; one that won’t get astray, lost, or stolen.”
“What’s the matter with this?” asked Captain Joe, opening the wooden door of the new part of the shanty. “Ye can’t lose this ’less ye take away the house.”
“That’s the very thing!” exclaimed Sanford. “Swing her wide open, Captain Joe. Please give me that big blue pencil.”
When the door flew back it was as white and clean as a freshly scrubbed pine table.
Sanford wrote as follows:—