too?" he added, turning to the next two in the line. "All right,
report to Tim. Do you want work?" he inquired of the last of the
quartette, a big bashful man with the shoulders of a Hercules.

"Yes, sir," answered the latter uncomfortably.

"What do you do?"

"I'm a cant-hook man, sir."

"Where have you worked?"

"I had a job with Morgan & Stebbins on the Clear River last winter."

"All right, we need cant-hook men. Report at 'seven,' and if they
don't want you there, go to 'thirteen.'"

Daly looked directly at the man with an air of finality. The
lumberman still lingered uneasily, twisting his cap in his hands.

"Anything you want?" asked Daly at last.

"Yes, sir," blurted the big man. "If I come down here and tell
you I want three days off and fifty dollars to bury my mother, I
wish you'd tell me to go to hell! I buried her three times last
winter!"

Daly chuckled a little.

"All right, Bub," said he, "to hell it is."