“You can—you will. You can’t help it,” the other assured him. “Join one of our surveying crews for a week and I’ll mellow that suit of yours and make a real mountaineer of you. I see you wear a Sigma Chi pin. What was your school?”
“I am a ‘Son of Eli.’ Last year’s class.”
The other man displayed his fob. “I’m ten classes ahead of you. My name is Nash. I’m what they call an ‘expert.’ I’m up here doing some estimating and surveying for a big ditch they’re putting in. I was rather in hopes you had come to join our ranks. We sons of Eli are holding the conservation fort these days, and we need help.”
“My knowledge of your work is rather vague,” admitted Norcross. “My father is in the lumber business; but his point of view isn’t exactly yours.”
“He slays ’em, does he?”
“He did. He helped devastate Michigan.”
“After me the deluge! I know the kind. Why not make yourself a sort of vicarious atonement?”
Norcross smiled. “I had not thought of that. It would help some, wouldn’t it?”
“It certainly would. There’s no great money in the work; but it’s about the most enlightened of all the governmental bureaus.”
Norcross was strongly drawn to this forester, whose tone was that of a highly trained specialist. “I rode up on the stage yesterday with Miss Berrie McFarlane.”