“Of course not, Mac,” he returned. “He’s your man now and you’re responsible for him.”
“I’m starting him at six dollars a week,” said McPherson.
“Very well; tell the time-keeper. Now give me the figures on last week’s shipments of pulp. They’re kicking hard down there and we must get more stuff through.”
Stanley found his new job more to his taste although the first half-hour found him aching in every bone. There was no abuse, but the machine-like rapidity with which the men passed the large squares of wet pulp into the car, called for every ounce of muscle in his body. At the end of the first hour he believed he must stop and rest, or drop in his tracks; but the men showed no inclination to pause. Then he seemed to get his second wind. He ached in every joint and cord, but by clinching his teeth he discovered he could keep moving.
At last the man with the whiskers, who had immediate charge of the loading, turned to him and humorously remarked, “You like this light work, eh?”
“It’s pretty tough, but it’s good to have a try at a man’s work,” panted Stanley.
“Wal, you make a pretty good try. Now git up in the car and take your time seeing the
