tle
stake ahead, and then next year we'll do it right and get in twenty
million. That railroad'll get along a ways by then, and men'll be more
plenty."

Through the lengthening evenings they sat crouched on wooden boxes
either side of the stove, conversing rarely, gazing at one spot with
a steady persistency which was only an outward indication of the
persistency with which their minds held to the work in hand. Tim, the
older at the business, showed this trait more strongly than Thorpe. The
old man thought of nothing but logging. From the stump to the bank, from
the bank to the camp, from the camp to the stump again, his restless
intelligence travelled tirelessly, picking up, turning over, examining
the littlest details with an ever-fresh curiosity and interest. Nothing
was too small to escape this deliberate scrutiny. Nothing was in so
perfect a state that it did not bear one more inspection. He played the
logging as a chess player his game. One by one he adopted the various
possibilities, remote and otherwise, as hypotheses, and thought out to
the uttermost copper rivet what would be the best method of procedure in
case that possibility should confront him.

Occasionally Thorpe would introduce some other topic of conversation.
The old man would listen to his remark with the attention of courtesy;
would allow a decent period of silence to intervene; and then, reverting
to the old subject without comment on the new, would emit one of his
terse practical suggestions, result of a long spell of figuring. That is
how success is made.

In the men's camp the crew lounged, smoked, danced, or played cards. In
those days no one thought of forbidding gambling. One evening Thorpe,
who had been too busy to remember Phil's violin,--although he noticed,
as he did every other detail of the camp, the cripple's industry, and
the precision with which he performed his duties,--strolled over
and looked through the window. A dance was in progress. The men were
waltzing, whirling solemnly round and round, gripping firmly each
other's loose sleeves just above the elbow. At every third step of the
waltz they stamped one foot.

Perched on a cracker box sat Phil. His head was thrust forward almost
aggressively over his instrument, and his eyes glared at the dancing men
with the old wolf-like gleam. As he played, he drew the bow across with
a swift jerk, thrust it back with another, threw his shoulders from one
side to the other in abrupt ti