“Don’t take any jobs for a month, Joe,” Mr. Cook said as he leaned over to knock the ashes out of his pipe. “You’re all booked up.”
“Suits me.”
“When do we start, Dad?” Mike asked idly.
“I thought in about two days.”
“Two days!” The Indian was suddenly on his feet and over by Mr. Cook. Again it crossed Sandy’s mind that Joe moved with the grace of a cat. “I don’t mean to speak out of turn or anything,” he said, “but why waste all that time?”
“There’s a lot to be done,” Mr. Cook pointed out mildly. “The gear’s got to be sorted and packed in trip boxes. The boats have to be loaded—”
Joe sat down on the porch railing. “I can do it this afternoon.”
“It’s a big job.”
Joe shrugged. “I’ll handle it.”
Mr. Cook looked up at Joe curiously. “You seem in an awful hurry to get out of here.”