"Good, Phil! I'm glad to see you on hand in season," said my employer.
"I mean to be on time always, sir."
"I'm paying my best men two dollars a day now," added Mr. Clinch.
"Does that young man get two dollars a day?" I asked, pointing to a boy of eighteen or nineteen, who was putting on his overalls in front of the building.
"No; that's Morgan Blair. He came down from Illinois last spring. I give him a dollar a day. He doesn't know the business, and that is more than he is worth. You will work with Conant."
Calling one of the workmen who answered to this name, he directed him to take me under his charge. The frame of the building was up, and we were to be engaged in boarding it.
"Come along, my boy; we will take the stiffening out of you in about two hours," said Conant, as he led the way to the stage.
"All right; when I break down I will give you leave to bury me."
"Do you think you can lift your end of a board?"
"I can; and lift both ends, if need be."