There was a grin on the man’s face, but none the less it was a challenge, and Larry accepted it.
“Sure, and we’ll be there!” he called. “We’ll be there with hair a foot long, pick-pole[3] in one hand, peavy-stick[4] in the other, ready for a game of jack-straws in the white water and a fist-jig on the bank!”
“And will ye write it all into a song, Larry Gorman?”
“All into a song it shall go!”
And roaring a good-natured cheer over their shoulders, the “Busters” filed away into the mouth of Pogey Notch.
“You may as well move, boys,” ordered Rodburd Ide. “This business here isn’t swampin’ yards nor buildin’ camps!”
The men for Enchanted cheerfully shouldered dunnage-sacks, and in their turn set off up the Notch.
“Here’s Tommy Eye’s bill of his time, Mr. Britt,” said Gorman, holding out a crumpled paper to the choking tyrant. Tommy himself had prudently departed, bulwarked by his new comrades.
“I’ll not pay it!” blustered Britt. “He broke the contract!”
“No more does he want you to pay it,” replied Larry, serenely, speaking in behalf of the amiable prodigal. “He says to credit it on that one drink of whiskey he took out of your bottle, and when he earns more money workin’ for honest men he’ll pay ye the rest.”