A few minutes later Dave departed into the mills. Since the mill up the river had been converted and set to work, and Simon Odd had been given temporary charge of it, he shared with Dawson the work of overseeing.
As he mounted to the principal milling floor the great syren shrieked out its summons to the night shift, and sent the call echoing and reëchoing down the valley. There was no cessation of work. The "relief" stood ready, and the work was passed on from hand to hand.
Dave saw his foreman standing close by No. 1, and he recognized the relief as Mansell. Dawson was watching the man closely, and judging by the frown on his face, it was plain that something was amiss. He moved over to him and beckoned him into the office.
"What's wrong?" he demanded, as soon as the door was closed.
Dawson was never the man to choose his words when he had a grievance. That was one of the reasons his employer liked him. He was so rough, and so straightforward. He had a grievance now.
"I ain't no sort o' use for these schoolhouse ways," he said, with the added force of an oath.
Dave waited for his next attempt.
"That skunk Mansell. He's got back to-night. He ain't been on the time-sheet for nigh to a week."
"You didn't tell me? Still, he's back."
Dave smiled into the other's angry face, and his manner promptly drew an explosion from the hot-headed foreman.