The whistle ceased blowing, but still Dan Kenyon stood at his post,
oblivious of the hungry saws. Ten seconds passed; then Zeb Curry,
immeasurably scandalized at Daniel's tardiness, tooted the whistle
sharply twice; whereupon Dan woke up, threw over the lever, and
walked his log up to the saw.
For the next five hours Zeb Curry had no opportunity to discuss the
matter with the head sawyer. After blowing the twelve o'clock
whistle, however, he hurried over to the dining-hall, where the mill
hands already lined the benches, shovelling food into their mouths as
only a lumberman or a miner can. Dan Kenyon sat at the head of the
table in the place of honour sacred to the head sawyer, and when his
mouth would permit of some activity other than mastication, Zeb Curry
caught his eye.
"Hey, you, Dan Kenyon," he shouted across the table, "what happened
to you this mornin'? It was sixteen seconds between the tail end o'
my whistle an' the front end o' your whinin'. First thing you know,
you'll be gettin' so slack an' careless-like some other man'll be
ridin' that log-carriage o' yourn."
"I was struck dumb," Dan Kenyon replied. "I just stood there like one
o' these here graven images. Last night on my way home from work I
heerd the young feller was back--he got in just as we was knockin'
off for the day; an' this mornin' just as you cut loose, Zeb, I'll be
danged if he didn't show up in front o' the office door, fumblin' for
the keyhole.
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