“How does she know when there's freight?”
“Oh, they signal her from the mill—” but Thorpe was gone.
At the mill Thorpe dove for the engine room. He knew that elsewhere the clang of machinery and the hurry of business would leave scant attention for him. And besides, from the engine room the signals would be given. He found, as is often the case in north-country sawmills, a Scotchman in charge.
“Does the boat stop here this morning?” he inquired.
“Weel,” replied the engineer with fearful deliberation, “I canna say. But I hae received na orders to that effect.”
“Can't you whistle her in for me?” asked Thorpe.
“I canna,” answered the engineer, promptly enough this time.
“Why not?”
“Ye're na what a body might call freight.”
“No other way out of it?”