for Five he displayed
most strikingly his keen appreciation of a man's relation to his
environment. He sought out John Radway and induced him to accept the
commission.

"You can do it, John," said he, "and I know it. I want you to try; and
if you don't make her go, I'll call it nobody's fault but my own."

"I don't see how you dare risk it, after that Cass Branch deal, Mr.
Thorpe," replied Radway, almost brokenly. "But I would like to tackle
it, I'm dead sick of loafing. Sometimes it seems like I'd die, if I
don't get out in the woods again."

"We'll call it a deal, then," answered Thorpe.

The result proved his sagacity. Radway was one of the best foremen in
the outfit. He got more out of his men, he rose better to emergencies,
and he accomplished more with the same resources than any of the others,
excepting Tim Shearer. As long as the work was done for someone else, he
was capable and efficient. Only when he was called upon to demand on his
own account, did the paralyzing shyness affect him.

But the one feature that did more to attract the very best element
among woodsmen, and so make possible the practice of Thorpe's theory of
success, was Camp One. The men's accommodations at the other five
were no different and but little better than those in a thousand other
typical lumber camps of both peninsulas. They slept in box-like bunks
filled with hay or straw over which blankets were spread; they sat on a
narrow hard bench or on the floor; they read by the dim light of a lamp
fastened against the big cross beam; they warmed themselves at a huge
iron stove in the center of the room around which suspended wires and
poles offered space for the drying of socks; they washed their clothes
when the mood struck them. It was warm and comparatively clean. But it
was dark, without ornament, cheerless.

The lumber-jack never expects anything different. In fact, if he were
pampered to the extent of ordinary comforts, he would be apt at once to
conclude himself indispensable; whereupon he would become worthless.

Thorpe, however, spent a little money--not much--and transformed Camp
One. Every bunk was provided with a tick, which the men could fill with
hay, balsam, or hemlock, as suited them. Cheap but attractive curtains
on wires at once brightened the room and shut each man's "bedroom"
from the main hall. The deacon seat remained but was supplemented by
a half-dozen simple and comfortable chairs. In the center of the room