“Oh, we can pick up labourers, and that is all we want at the present time.”
“All right, go at it. I will give you a hand myself.”
“Then there is something else, Dad. We ought to have a good athletic field for our men.”
His father gasped at him.
“An athletic field for those ungrateful rascals?”
“Father, they are not rascals,” said his son. “They are just the same to-day as they ever were. A decent lot of chaps who don't think the same as we do on a number of points. But they are coming back again some time and we may as well be ready for them. Look at this.”
And before Grant Maitland could recover his speech he found himself looking at a beautifully-drawn plan of athletic grounds set out with walks, shade trees and shrubbery, and with a plain but commodious club-house appearing in the background.
“And where do you get this land, and what does it cost you?”
“The land,” replied Jack, “is your land about the old mill. It will cost us nothing, I hope. The old mill site contains two and one-half acres. It can be put in shape with little work. The mill itself is an eyesore; ought to have been removed long ago. Dad, you ought to have seen the plant at Violetta, that is in Ohio, you know. It is a joy to behold. But never mind about that. The lumber in the old mill can be used up in the club-house. The timbers are wonderful; nothing like them to-day anywhere. The outside finishing will be done with slabs from our own yard. They will make a very pretty job.”
“And where do you get the men for this work?” inquired his father.