“You were on the bench, eh? What sort of work were you on?”
“A was daein' a bit counter work. A wasna fast enough for him.”
Mr. Maitland called the head sawyer.
“Put a man on here for a while, Powell, will you? You come with me, McNish.”
Together they went into the planing mill. Asking for the foreman he found that he was nowhere to be seen, that indeed he had not been in the mill that morning.
“Show me your work, McNish,” he said.
McNish led him to a corner of the mill where some fine counter work was in process.
“That's my work,” he said, pointing to a piece of oak railing.
Maitland, turning the work over in his hands, ran his finger along a joint somewhat clumsily fitted.
“Not that,” said McNish hastily. “Ma work stops here.”