Moncrossen sank his yellow teeth into a thick plug of tobacco and tore off the corner with a jerk.
"Throw yer blankets into an empty bunk an' be ready fer work in the mornin'. I'll put you swampin' fer the big Swede—I guess that 'll hold you. Yer wages is forty-five a month—an' I'm right here to see that you earn 'em."
"Can I buy blankets here? I threw mine away coming out."
"Comin' out! Comin' in, you mean! Men come in to the woods. In the spring they go out—if they're lucky. Get what you want over to the van; it'll be charged ag'in' yer wages." Bill turned toward the door.
"By the way," the boss growled, "what's yer name—back where you come from?"
"Bill."
"Bill what?"
"No. Just Bill—with a period for a full stop. And that's my business—see?" As Moncrossen encountered the level stare of the gray eyes he leered knowingly.
"Oh, that's it, eh? All right, Bill! 'Curiosity killed the cat,' as the feller says. An' just don't forget to remember that what a man don't know don't hurt him none. Loggin' is learned in the choppin's. Accidents happens; an' dead men tells no tales. Them that keeps their eyes to the front an' minds their own business gen'ally winters through. That's all."
Bill wondered at the seemingly irrelevant utterances of the boss, but left the office without comment.