doubtfully.

"I always said you were too easy with them. You got to drive them
more."

"Well, it's a rough country," apologized Radway, trying, as was
his custom, to find excuses for the other party as soon as he was
agreed with in his blame, "there's any amount of potholes; and, then,
we've had so much snow the ground ain't really froze underneath. It
gets pretty soft in some of them swamps. Can't figure on putting up
as much in this country as we used to down on the Muskegon."

The scaler smiled a thin smile all to himself behind the stove. Big
John Radway depended so much on the moral effect of approval or
disapproval by those with whom he lived. It amused Dyer to withhold
the timely word, so leaving the jobber to flounder between his easy
nature and his sense of what should be done.

Dyer knew perfectly well that the work was behind, and he knew the
reason. For some time the men had been relaxing their efforts.
They had worked honestly enough, but a certain snap and vim had
lacked. This was because Radway had been too easy on them.

Your true lumber-jack adores of all things in creation a man whom he
feels to be stronger than himself. If his employer is big enough to
drive him, then he is willing to be driven to the last ounce of his
strength. But once he gets the notion that his "boss" is afraid
of, or for, him or his feelings or his health, he loses interest in
working for that man. So a little effort to lighten or expedite his
work, a little leniency in excusing the dilatory finishing of a