“I don’t understand it myself. But I know that if I strained things to the breaking point, I could never get the work out of any laborers that he got out of those Italians. With him, and them, we might have saved a good many days in this work.” “We might have tried the plan ourselves,” said the young man, with a chuckle. “Only I fancy a little something would have happened if we had tried it.” Young Van’s dangerous mood had passed. Carhart abruptly changed the subject. “How would you like to go up into Canada with me, Gus?” he said. “With you? There isn’t much doubt what to answer to that.” “There will be some interesting things about the work--and time enough to do them well, the way it looks now. I can’t promise you any remarkable inducements, but you will get a little more than you have been paid here--I won’t say more than you have earned here, for you have not been paid what you are worth.” A moment passed before these words could get into the consciousness of the young man. Then--they were just entering the village on their return--he stopped short and looked into Paul Carhart’s face. “Do you mean that you really want me?” he asked. Carhart tried not to smile as he said: “The choice of assistants is in my hands, Gus, and I should find it difficult to justify myself for taking an assistant whom I did not want--and especially for an undertaking that is likely to last several years.” Young Van was standing stock-still. “‘Several years,’” he repeated. Then, “This seems to amount pretty nearly to a permanent offer?” “Pretty nearly,” said Carhart, smiling now. At this they resumed their pace and entered the town. Both were absorbed--Young Van in his astonishment that he had found favor in the eyes of his chief, Carhart in his amusement over the utter naïveté of the boy; and neither had an eye for the groups of desperate characters that lined the street, least of all for the particular group before the “Acme Hotel, J. Peters, Prop.”