“Then why in thunder did you begin?”
“Gordon thought you wanted help, but the boys will soon be ready for supper, and I left a tub of potatoes by the track. Jock expects me to cut the potatoes, and I think he’s asleep.”
“Some folks get their dollars easy,” the smith remarked. “Well, I reckon I could put you on the pay-roll, but I want you now.”
“It’s awkward,” said Kit. “I’d sooner grind the tools, but when I arrived Jock gave me supper, and until he lets me go I’m his man.”
“You get your grub; but you don’t know if I can hire you up?”
“I don’t think it’s altogether my argument,” Kit replied. “If you like, I’ll come back in the morning.”
“You make me tired,” said the smith. “You better cut your blamed potatoes. Get out!”
Kit went and rather moodily helped the cook serve supper. In Canada a smith’s pay is good, but a minstrel’s reward was small. Moreover, at the smithy the glimmering forge, the red iron, and the rows of tools had called. There was Kit’s occupation; he did not know much about cooking, and all he did know he did not like. When the plates were cleaned he went to the bridge-head and lighted his pipe. After breakfast he resolved to start for the water tank. By and by Gordon arrived, and when he noted Kit’s rueful look he smiled.
“Bill wants you in the morning. The foreman agrees he can try you out.”
“Then I expect you’re accountable,” said Kit. “Bill declared I made him tired and ordered me to be off.”