“If I hadn’t, I’d try to make one,” Aynsley answered. “However, as it happens, we do need a few extra hands; but I’m afraid I’ve only rough work to offer.”
“It couldn’t be much rougher than we’ve been doing. I believe we can make ourselves useful; and that Hank here could move more lumber in a day than any man in your mill. But of course you’re under no obligation to take us.”
“We’ll let that go; I need help. You can begin with the stacking gang, but something better may turn up. Now tell me something about your northern trip.”
Bethune told him as much as he thought advisable, and, although he used tact, Aynsley gave him a keen glance now and then, as if he suspected some reserve. Before Aynsley could make a comment, Bethune stood up.
“I’ve no doubt you’re a busy man,” he said, “and we mustn’t waste your time. Shall we make a start in the morning?”
“You can begin right now.”
Aynsley rang a bell and handed them over to his foreman.
For some weeks the men remained contentedly at the mill. The work was hard, but the pay was fair, and the boarding arrangements good, and Aynsley seldom failed to give them a pleasant word as he passed. Indeed, Jimmy felt a warm liking for him; and it was not by his wish but by Bethune’s that their respective stations as employer and workmen remained clearly defined.
One day, when Aynsley had been absent for more than a week, the foreman came to them.
“I’m sorry you’ll have to quit,” he said. “We’re paying off several of the boys.”