"Now this slashing business," went on the old lumberman in a more moderate tone. "When the millennium comes, it would be a fine thing to clear up the old slashings." He turned suddenly to Bob. "How long do you think it would take you with a crew of a dozen men to cut and pile the waste stuff in 18?" he inquired.
Bob cast back the eye of his recollection to the hopeless tangle that cumbered the ground.
"Oh, Lord!" he ejaculated; "don't ask me!"
"If you were running a business would you feel like stopping work and sending your men—whom you are feeding and paying—back there to pile up that old truck?"
Bob's mind, trained to the eager hurry of the logging season, recoiled from this idea in dismay.
"I should say not!" he cried. Then as a second thought he added: "But what they want is to pile the tops while the work is going on."
"It takes just so much time to do so much work," stated Welton succinctly, "and it don't matter whether you do it all at once, or try to fool yourself by spraddling it out."
He pulled strongly at his pipe.
"Forest Reserves are all right enough," he acknowledged, "and maybe some day their theories will work out. But not now; not while taxes go on!"