Before the work had begun, Halloran saw Du Bois, an old lumber inspector, on the wharf and called to him. The old man, a soft felt hat pulled down on the side of his head, his gray beard streaked with tobacco, turned and waited for him to come up.
“I have a boy here, Du Bois” [pronounced DoO Boyce], “who thinks he'd like to learn lumber-checking. Suppose you take hold of him and see if we can make anything out of him.”
“All right, Mr. Halloran. Where is he?”
“Up at the office. You'd better send a man after him. His name's George Bigelow.”
“All right, sir; I'll keep an eye on him.”
The Inspector spat voluminously and hailed one of the labourers.
“Hi, you there! Run up to the office and tell George to get a scale and a tally-board and come down here. Grease your knees!”
The labourer ambled off and soon returned with George.
“Well, young man,” said Du Bois, “they tell me you're a lumber-checker.”
“I—I thought maybe I could learn.”