“You've nothing to do with that,” said Travis gruffly. “You want a new girl for our drawing-in machine—the best paying and most profitable place in the mill—off from the others—in a room by herself—no contact with mill-people—easy job—two dollars a day—”
“One dollar—you forgit, suh—one dollar's the reg'lar price, sah,” interrupted the Whipper-in.
The other turned on him almost fiercely: “Your memory is as weak as your wits—two dollars, I tell you, and don't interrupt me again—”
“To be sho',” said the Whipper-in, meekly—“I did forgit—please excuse me, sah.”
“Then, in talking to Conway, you, of course, would draw his attention to the fact that he is to have a nice cottage free of rent—that will come in right handy when he finds himself out in the road—sold out and nowhere to go,” he said.
“'N' the commissary,” put in Carpenter quietly. “Excuse me, sah, but there's a mighty good bran' of whiskey there, you know!”
Travis smiled good humoredly: “Your wits are returning,” he said; “I think you understand.”
“I'll see him to-morrow,” said Carpenter, rising to go.
“Oh, don't be in a hurry,” said Travis.
“Excuse me, sah, but I'm afraid I've bored you stayin' too long.”