honest superior as a crafty, dainty cat might watch the blunderings
of a St. Bernard. When he spoke, it was with a mockery so subtle as
quite to escape the perceptions of the lumberman. Dyer had a precise
little black mustache whose ends he was constantly twisting into
points, black eyebrows, and long effeminate black lashes. You would
have expected his dress in the city to be just a trifle flashy, not
enough so to be loud, but sinning as to the trifles of good taste.
The two men conversed in short elliptical sentences, using many
technical terms.

"That 'seventeen' white pine is going to underrun," said Dyer. "It
won't skid over three hundred thousand."

"It's small stuff," agreed Radway, "and so much the worse for us;
but the Company'll stand in on it because small stuff like that
always over-runs on the mill-cut."

The scaler nodded comprehension.

"When you going to dray-haul that Norway across Pike Lake?"

"To-morrow. She's springy, but the books say five inches of ice
will hold a team, and there's more than that. How much are we
putting in a day, now?"

"About forty thousand."

Radway fell silent.

"That's mighty little for such a crew," he observed at last,