“Oh,––likes drink once in a while, but drink doesn’t like him;––that’s all. It goes to his brain somehow. Do you think you could manage him if he took you unawares?”
“I could try,” answered Phil.
“That’s the way to talk. And you’ve got the frame to work on, too. Can you throw a rope?”
“I used to when I was a kid. I guess, with a little practice, I still could do it pretty well.”
“Well,––practise in your spare time. It is handy to be able to throw a rope in this Valley. And it doesn’t cost anything carrying the ability about with you. Can you use your fists?”
“Yes!––tolerably well.”
“Good for you! Now all you need is to be able to use your head and everything will be O. K.”
All that day, Royce Pederstone worked like the real village blacksmith he was; shoeing horses, repairing farm implements, bolting, riveting and welding; showing Phil all he could in the short time he had with him, telling him––because it was uppermost in his mind––just a little of his electioneering plans and what he intended doing for the Okanagan Valley in the way of irrigation, railroads and public buildings; instilling in his apprentice an enthusiasm for his new work and making for himself at the same time another friend and political booster; for Phil was quick to appreciate the kindliness of this sturdy, pioneering type of man and he felt drawn to him by that strange, attractive sub-conscious essence which flows from all who are born to lead, an hypnotic current which is one of the first essentials of all men who can ever hope successfully to carry out any good or big undertaking for, or with, their fellow men; the ability with the triple qualities––to interest, to attract, to hold,––making one feel that it is good to be within the dominant influence, if only for a time.