"Say, Jim, here's a man that wants you."
There was the sound of heavy footsteps upon the wooden floor, and in another moment Fitz-Adams stood framed in the door-way.
I was standing on the ground, quite two feet below, and looking up at him in that uncertain light, he seemed to me gigantic. A great muscular frame fairly filled the door. He was dressed in a suit of light-gray corduroy, a flannel shirt, a dark felt hat, and top-boots, and I could see that he was young and not unhandsome, although of a very different type of good looks from those of Achilles. His large, round head rested close upon a trunk that was massive yet quite splendidly shapely, and highly suggestive of agility and strength. His face was round, and the features full and of uncertain moulding, but you did not miss the evidence of strength in his thick, firm lips and the clear, unfaltering eyes with their expression of perfect unconsciousness of self. He was plainly Irish, but quite as plainly of American birth, which was clear when he spoke.
"I'm looking for a job," I began, "and I've come to see whether I can get one here."
"Who sent you?"
"They told me in Long's Camp that I might get a job here."
"They didn't want you, and so they sent you to me, eh?"
"They said that they didn't need more men there."
"Oh, they did, did they? And you've worked in the woods before, I suppose?"
"No, but I have worked at other kinds of work, and if you'll give me a chance you can see what I can do, and then you can discharge me if you don't want me."