"Is your sense of smell sharp enough to tell what's happening up there?"
"Sure."
"Suppose it's a backward season?"
"Then we'll lay in the ice alongside the Company boats till she breaks.
That may be in June."
"I would like to get in early, and have the buildings started before
Marsh arrives. There's no telling what he may try."
George gave his companion a short nod. "And there ain't no telling what we may try right back at him. Anyhow, he'll have to fight in the open, and that's better than this shadow-boxing that we've been doing."
"I'm off to tell Cherry," said Boyd. "She'll need to be getting ready."
His course took him past Hilliard's bank, and when abreast of it he nearly collided with a man who came hurrying forth, an angry scowl between his eyes giving evidence of a surly humor. In the well-groomed, fiery-haired, plump-figured man who, absorbed in his own anger, was rushing by without raising his eyes, Emerson recognized the manager of the North American Packers' Association.
"Good-evening, Mr. Marsh."
Marsh whirled about. "Eh? Ah!" With a visible effort he smoothed the lines from his brow; his full lips lost their angry pout, and he showed his teeth in a startled, apprehensive smile.