In an ordinary case, I would have been beginning to fear that that shack had become a common shebeen, but I knew Jake was not the man to accept money from any of his fellow creatures in exchange for any hospitality it might be in his power to offer. A few days later came a repeat order from No. 1 Camp, then a request from the Cannery, which I was able to fill only in part, as many things required by them had not been included in the original orders given to the Vancouver wholesalers. I was beginning to wonder where Camp No. 2 was getting its supplies from, when, one day, about two weeks after my opening, they showed up. Two men came over in a fast-moving launch of a much better type than those in use by the other camps. The men were big and burly fellows. One of them was unmistakably Irish; the other looked of Swedish extraction. "You the man that looks after this joint?" asked the Swede. "I am," I answered. He looked me up and down, for I was on the same side of the counter as they. Then he turned to his Irish companion with a grin. "Say, mister,--where's your hoss?" he asked, addressing me. Both laughed loudly. At first I failed to see the point of hilarity. "What is the joke?" I asked. "Guess you are!" said the Swede. And the two men laughed louder than ever. "Look here!" I cried, my blood getting up, "I want you two to understand, first go off, that I am not in the habit of standing up to be grinned at. What do you want? Speak out your business or get out of here and tumble back into your boat." "Ach!--it's all right, matey," put in the Irishman. "Just a bit av fun out av yer breeches and leggings. We Canucks don't wear breeches and leggings in grocery stores. Do we, Jan?" "Guess nit," said Jan. And they both laughed again. I cooled down, thinking if that were all their joke they were welcome to it, for I had already found my breeches and leggings mighty handy for getting through the bush with and for tumbling in and out of leaky rowing boats. I grinned. "All right, fellows," I cried, "laugh all you want and I'll leave you a legging each as a legacy when I die." "Say, sonny,--you're all right!" he exclaimed. Good humour returned all round. "We're from No. 2 Camp at Cromer Bay and we want a bunch of stuff." "Where is your list and I'll try to fill it?" I inquired. The Swede handed over a long order, badly scrawled on the back of a paper bag. The order was unstamped and unsigned, and not on the company's order form. "This is not any good," I said. "Where is the company's order?" The Swede looked blankly at the Irishman, and the Irishman gazed dreamily at the Swede. "Guess that's good enough. Ain't it, Dan?" "Shure!" seconded Dan. "It can't be done, boys," I said. "Sorry,--but I have my instructions and they must be followed out." I handed back the list. The Swede stared at it and then over at me. "Ain't you goin' to fill this?" "No!"