“I’ve only just come down; the frost’s not out of me yet,” Lisle grumbled. “Besides, you seem to be going ahead rather fast here in the city. Walthew’s a little too much of a hustler; I’d rather he’d stop to think. You’re almost as bad, Garnet.”
The young man laughed.
“I guess you can’t help it, it’s the English streak in you; but in a way you’re right. Fact is Walthew and I have hustled the rest of the crowd most off their feet, and we mean to keep them on the jump. Last meeting old Macalan’s eyes were bulging with horror, he could hardly stammer out his indignation—said our extravagance was sinful. Anyway, you’ve got to go.”
Lisle made an acquiescent grimace. His face was strongly darkened by exposure to the frost and the glare of the snow; his hands were scarred, with several ugly recently-healed wounds on them.
“Well,” he complied with some reluctance, “if it’s necessary.”
“It is,” Garnet explained. “Think we’re going to have washing plant worth a good many thousand dollars left lying in the bush or dropped into rivers? You’ll have to arrange for transport and break new trails. You can do it best when the snow’s still on the ground, and that plant must start working soon after the thaw comes. We’ve got to justify our expenditure while the season’s open.”
“You haven’t got your authority to buy the plant yet.”
Garnet chuckled.
“It was ordered, provisionally, the day you came down; the makers are only waiting for a wire from the Board meeting. In fact, I shouldn’t be astonished if some of the work isn’t in progress now.”
Lisle was quick of thought and prompt in action, but he sometimes felt as if Garnet took his breath away.