There was no love lost between the two men. Both were framers, both
famous captains, and more than once had they led the opposing forces at
raisings. The awkward silence following Rory's hot speech was relieved
by Charley Boyle's ready wit.

"We'll divide the work, boys," he said. "Some men do the liftin' and
others the yellin'. Tom and me'll do the yellin'."

A roar of laughter rose at Tom's expense, whose reputation as a worker
was none too brilliant.

"All right then, boys," roared Tom. "Ye'll have to take it. Git togither
an' quit yer blowin'." He cast an experienced eye over the ground where
the huge timbers were strewn about in what to the uninitiated would seem
wild confusion.

"Them's the sills," he cried. "Where's the skids?"

"Right under yer nose, Tom," said the framer quietly.

"Here they are, lads. Git up thim skids! Now thin, fer the sills.
Grab aholt, min, they're not hot! All togither-r-r--heave!
Togither-r-r--heave! Once more, heave! Walk her up, boys! Walk her up!
Come on, Angus! Where's yer porridge gone to? Move over, two av ye!
Don't take advantage av a little man loike that!" Angus was just six
feet four. "Now thin, yer pikes! Shove her along! Up she is! Steady!
Cant her over! How's that, framer? More to the east, is it? Climb up
on her, ye cats, an' dig in yer claws! Now thin, east wid her!
Togither-r-r--heave! Aw now, where are ye goin'? Don't be too