"He's slowing
up, Zeb. He must have been fifteen seconds late this morning--or
perhaps," he added "you were fifteen seconds earlier than the clock."
Dan grinned, and Bryce went on seriously: "I'm afraid you're getting
too old to ride the log-carriage, Dan. You've been at it a long time;
so, with the utmost good will in the world toward you, you're fired.
I might as well tell you now. You know me, Dan. I always did dislike
beating about the bush."
"Fired!" Dan Kenyon's eyes popped with amazement and horror. "Fired--
after thirty years!" he croaked.
"Fired!" There was unmistakable finality in Bryce's tones. "You're
hired again, however, at a higher salary, as mill-superintendent. You
can get away with that job, can't you, Dan? In fact," he added
without waiting for the overjoyed Dan to answer him, "you've got to
get away with it, because I discharged the mill-superintendent I
found on the job when I got down here this morning. He's been letting
too many profits go into the slab-fire. In fact, the entire plant has
gone to glory. Fire-hose old and rotten--couldn't stand a hundred-
pound pressure; fire-buckets and water-barrels empty, axes not in
their proper places, fire-extinguishers filled with stale chemical--
why, the smallest kind of a fire here would get beyond our control
with that man on the job.
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