“Got to. It will crowd up close to the mills, but we can't help it.”
“That will raise the insurance premium—clear up to the mill rate.
“I know it.”
“Do you want me to go ahead with the insurance?”
“No; not yet. Speak to me again about it in a day or so. This lumber isn't going to help us out very far if we let all our profits go out in storage and commissions and carriage and insurance. I don't know but what we'll have to carry it ourselves. It isn't just the weather I'd have picked out—but this business isn't of our choosing, anyway. I'd like to find out how much old G. Hyde knows about us. I don't believe he's got on the track of the whole stock.”
And so the order went out to concentrate all the lumber at Wauchung; and at the flying word, passing from house to house, that at last there was to be work at the yards, Wauchung stirred and aroused. Again men came flocking to the office, shouldering peavies and cant-hooks and clamouring for employment. Sailors appeared to man the steamers and were set to scrubbing and polishing. Coal-wagons rumbled through the yards to the wharves, bringing food for the furnaces. Men went about grinning and joking and slapping backs heartily, and swapping yams about the Old Gentleman in his palmy days, ten and twenty years before. Robbie MacGregor appeared, fatter than ever after his enforced idleness, growling at all the known works of the Creator, and refusing to speak civilly to any one until he had let himself into his greasy blue overalls and was free to finger his levers, and dress down the oilers, and swear gloriously at the new hands in the stoke-room.
“Good-afternoon, Mr. Halloran,” said Captain Craig, when he reached the office. “When are we to start?”
“To-night, if you have your men. MacGregor's on hand now, getting up steam.”
“Good for Robbie.”
“By the way, Captain, I'll try to have some work for George as soon as the first lot of lumber gets in.”