"Mr. Bascomb," Tom called, "did you tell Evarts that he might visit this camp?"
"Yes; I did," admitted the president of the company, stiffly.
"Then I'm sorry to say that Evarts has been misinformed," Tom went on.
"He can't visit this camp. He's too much of a trouble-maker here."
"Shut up your talk!" jeered Evarts roughly. "Don't try to give orders to the president of the company that hires and pays you."
"Mr. Bascomb is the head of the company that employs me," Tom assented. "But I am in charge here, and am responsible, with Mr. Hazelton, for the good order of the camp and the success of the work. Therefore, Evarts, you'll leave camp now, and you won't come back again under pain of being punished for trespass."
"Oh, now see here, Reade—-" began Mr. Bascomb angrily, as he started forward. But Treasurer Prenter caught Bascomb by the arm, whispering in his ear.
"Waiting for you, Mr. Bascomb," called Evarts.
"I guess you'd better go," called the president, rather shamefacedly, after his talk with Mr. Prenter. "I guess maybe Reade is right. At all events his contract places him in charge of this camp."
"Humph, Evarts, a lot of good you can do us here, can't you?" sneered the sallow-faced fellow.
Tom looked first at one, and then at the other of the pair.