“Yes,” continued Jack, “manager-timber is rare and slow-growing stuff, Tony.”
Again Tony swore but kept silence, and so remained till they had reached his home. Together they walked into the living room. There they found Annette, and with her McNish. Both rose upon their entrance, McNish showing some slight confusion, and assuming the attitude of a bulldog on guard, Annette vividly eager, expectant, anxious.
“Well,” she cried, her hands going fluttering to her bosom.
“I have got a job, Annette,” said Tony, with a short laugh. “Here is my boss.”
For a moment the others stood looking at Jack, surprised into motionless silence.
“I tell you, he is the new manager,” repeated Tony, “and he is my boss.”
“What does he mean, Jack?” cried the girl, coming forward to Maitland with a quick, impulsive movement.
“Just what he says, Annette. I am the new manager of the planing mill and I have given Tony a job.”
Again there fell a silence. Into the eyes of the bulldog McNish there shot a strange gleam of something that seemed almost like pleasure. In those brief moments of silence life was readjusting itself with them all. Maitland had passed from the rank and file of the workers into the class of those who direct and control their work. Bred as they were and trained as they were in the democratic atmosphere of Canada, they were immediately conscious of the shifting of values.
Annette was the first to break silence. “I wish I could thank you,” she said, “but I cannot. I cannot.” The girl's face had changed. The eager light had faded from her dark eyes, her hands dropped quietly to her side. “But I am sure you know,” she added after a pause, “how very, very grateful I am, how grateful we all are, Mr. Maitland.”