desired, infinitely picturesque. He passed on with the clear,
yellow-white of the pine boards lingering back of his retina.

But now suddenly his sauntering brought him to the water front. The
tramway ended in a long platform running parallel to the edge of the
docks below. There were many little cars, both in the process of
unloading and awaiting their turn. The place swarmed with men, all
busily engaged in handing the boards from one to another as buckets are
passed at a fire. At each point where an unending stream of them passed
over the side of each ship, stood a young man with a long, flexible
rule. This he laid rapidly along the width of each board, and then as
rapidly entered a mark in a note-book. The boards seemed to move fairly
of their own volition, like a scutellate monster of many joints,
crawling from the cars, across the dock, over the side of the ship and
into the black hold where presumably it coiled. There were six ships;
six, many-jointed monsters creeping to their appointed places under the
urging of these their masters; six young men absorbed and busy at the
tallying; six crews panoplied in leather guiding the monsters to their
lairs. Here, too, the sun-warmed air arose sluggish with the aroma of
pitch, of lumber, of tar from the ships' cordage, of the wetness of
unpainted wood. Aloft in the rigging, clear against the sky, were
sailors in contrast of peaceful, leisurely industry to those who toiled
and hurried below. The masts swayed gently, describing an arc against
the heavens. The sailors swung easily to the motion. From below came the
quick dull sounds of planks thrown down, the grind of car wheels, the
movement of feet, the varied, complex sound of men working together, the
clapping of waters against the structure. It was confusing, confusing as
the noise of many hammers. Yet two things seemed to steady it, to
confine it, keep it in the bounds of order, to prevent it from usurping
more than its meet and proper proportion. One was the tingling lake