“There goes the Pilot,” said a lumber-jack at the bar. “Hello, Pilot!”
“Ain’t ye goin’ t’ preach no more at Camp Six?”
“Sure, Tom!”
“Well–when the hell?”
“Week from Thursday, Tom,” the vanishing man called back; “tell the boys I’m coming.”
“Know the Pilot?” the lumber-jack asked.
I nodded.
“Higgins’s job,” said he, earnestly, “is keepin’ us boys out o’ hell; an’ he’s the only man on the job.”
Of this I had been informed.