"We're going to size up. We've got to, and that's all there is
to it," retorted Tom. "We've been thrown in the water here, Harry,
and we've got to swim---which means that we're going to do so.
Mr. Blaisdell," turning to the assistant, "you needn't worry
as to whether we're going to make good. We _shall_!"

"I like your spirit, at any rate, and I've a notion that you're
going to win through," remarked the assistant.

"You try out a lot of men here, don't you?" asked Harry.

"A good many," assented Blaisdell.

"From what I heard at table," Hazelton continued, "Mr. Thurston
drops a good many of the new men after trying them."

"He doesn't drop any man that he doesn't have to drop," returned
Blaisdell. "Tim Thurston wants every competent man that he can
get here. Let me see-----"

Blaisdell did some silent counting on his fingers. Then he went
on:

"In the last eleven weeks, Thurston has dropped just sixteen new
men."

"Whew!" gasped Harry, casting a sidelong glance at his shoes,
with visions of a coming walk at least as far back as Denver or
Pueblo.