With the capital to be obtained from the following winter's product, Thorpe hoped to be able to establish a branch which should run from a point some two miles behind Camp One, to a “dump” a short distance above the mill. For this he had made all the estimates, and even the preliminary survey. He was therefore the more grievously disappointed, when Wallace Carpenter made it impossible for him to do so.
He was sitting in the mill-office one day about the middle of July. Herrick, the engineer, had just been in. He could not keep the engine in order, although Thorpe knew that it could be done.
“I've sot up nights with her,” said Herrick, “and she's no go. I think I can fix her when my head gets all right. I got headachy lately. And somehow that last lot of Babbit metal didn't seem to act just right.”
Thorpe looked out of the window, tapping his desk slowly with the end of a lead pencil.
“Collins,” said he to the bookkeeper, without raising his voice or altering his position, “make out Herrick's time.”
The man stood there astonished.
“But I had hard luck, sir,” he expostulated. “She'll go all right now, I think.”
Thorpe turned and looked at him.
“Herrick,” he said, not unkindly, “this is the second time this summer the mill has had to close early on account of that engine. We have supplied you with everything you asked for. If you can't do it, we shall have to get a man who can.”
“But I had—” began the man once more.