Grant's eyes twinkled.
"Now you have got hold of the wrong idea. You have raised a different point."
"Then, for instance, would you expect a hired man who had no interest in the crop to work as hard as you would?"
"Yes," Grant answered rather grimly; "I'd see he did. Though I don't often pay more than I can help, I wouldn't blame him for screwing up his wages to the last cent he could get; but if it was only half the proper rate, he'd have to do his share. A man's responsible to the country he's living in, not to his employer; the latter's only an agent, and if he gets too big a commission, it doesn't affect the case."
"It affects the workman seriously."
"He and his master must settle that point between them," Grant paused and spread out his hands forcibly. "You have heard what the country west of old Fort Garby—it's Winnipeg now—was like thirty years ago. Do you suppose all the men who made it what it is got paid for what they did? Canada couldn't raise the money, and quite a few of them got frozen to death."
It struck Edgar as a rather stern doctrine, but he admitted the truth of it; what was more, he felt that George and this farmer had many views in common. Grant, however, changed the subject.
"You had better take your two heavy teams in to the Butte on Monday;
I've ordered my freight there until the sandy trails get loose again.
Bring a couple of spare horses along. We'll load you up and you can
come in again."
"Two Clover-leaf wagons will haul a large lot of seed in a double journey."
"It's quite likely you'll have to make a third. Don't you think you ought to get this hauling done before Lansing comes home?"