Daly looked directly at the man with an air of finality. The lumberman still lingered uneasily, twisting his cap in his hands.
“Anything you want?” asked Daly at last.
“Yes, sir,” blurted the big man. “If I come down here and tell you I want three days off and fifty dollars to bury my mother, I wish you'd tell me to go to hell! I buried her three times last winter!”
Daly chuckled a little.
“All right, Bub,” said he, “to hell it is.”
The man went out. Daly turned to Thorpe with the last flickers of amusement in his eyes.
“What can I do for you?” he inquired in a little crisper tones. Thorpe felt that he was not treated with the same careless familiarity, because, potentially, he might be more of a force to deal with. He underwent, too, the man's keen scrutiny, and knew that every detail of his appearance had found its comment in the other's experienced brain.
“I am looking for work,” Thorpe replied.
“What kind of work?”
“Any kind, so I can learn something about the lumber business.”