"All right," said Ross with a gruffness that did not conceal his sympathy. "Fire ahead!"
"The other day you–you offered me money," Leslie began with difficulty.
"Yes, and I do to-day," Ross interrupted.
Leslie shook his head. "Hold on till I get to it. I can’t take your money–not that way. But the other day I heard the McKenzies tell Wilson that you tried to hire men in Miners’ Camp. Will you hire me?"
"Will I!" Ross leaped to his feet. He grabbed his cap and tossed it in the air and then fell to pommeling Leslie in pure exuberance of joy. "Hire you? I wish there were half a dozen of you to hire! Bully for you! But––"
His exuberance died out. He replaced his cap and looked down on the other, his lips pursed ready for a whistle.
"Well?"
"See here!" Ross burst out. "What about Wilson?"
"That’s all right," Leslie answered quickly. "I told him a couple of days ago that I’d got to get money. I told him I’d leave him the grub, of course. I agreed to furnish it, and I’ll stick to my word," doggedly, "but I must also light out and earn some money. And all I can do is to work with my hands. I–well, I’ve always hated to make my head work, and I’ve never had to do any other kind until now. You’ll find I’m soft yet, but I’ll do my best."
The boy spoke humbly.