"Why, your wail about being a man and putting on overalls and digging in
reminded me that if you liked you may have a chance to get on your apron
and show us what you can do," he laughed. "Matt's about due to go on a
tear. He's been on the water-wagon now about his limit. The first man
that comes along with a bottle of whisky, Matt will get it and quit and
head for town. I was wondering if you and Katy John could keep the gang
from starving to death if that happened. The last time I had to get in
and cook for two weeks myself. And I can't run a logging crew from the
cook shanty very well."

"I daresay I could manage," Stella returned dubiously. "This seems to be
a terrible place for drinking. Is it the accepted thing to get drunk at
all times and in public?"

"It's about the only excitement there is," Benton smiled tolerantly. "I
guess there is no more drinking out here than any other part of this
North American continent. Only a man here gets drunk openly and
riotously without any effort to hide it, and without it being considered
anything but a natural lapse. That's one thing you'll have to get used
to out here, Stell--I mean, that what vices men have are all on the
surface. We don't get drunk secretly at the club and sneak home in a
taxi. Oh, well, we'll cross the bridge when we come to it. Matt may not
break out for weeks."

He yawned openly.

"Sleepy?" Stella inquired.

"I get up every morning between four and five," he replied. "And I can