“How are you?” said the Superintendent, suspicious but civil. “First rate. How are you?” “Want to see any one?” “No; just looking around.” “Where were you going?” asked the Superintendent, trying to veil his suspicions. “Nowhere especially. I didn't suppose they'd be any objection if I watched 'em loading the steamer.” “No--certainly not.” This reluctantly. “Got a great lot of lumber here, haven't you?” Halloran was looking, as he spoke, at a long pile that extended to a point within fifty feet of the mill. “Yes; working nights right along--with all the men I can get. That pile doesn't stay here; but we're so crowded I had to leave it over night--just until I get the Bigelow loaded up. I'm going to put on a big force this afternoon and carry it all down to the wharf. Some days lately we've been so crowded I really haven't known how I was going to get things done.” Slowly it was dawning on Halloran that he was suspected of being--not the manager for Higgin-son & Company--but a lynx-eyed insurance inspector, out running down violations of the clear-space clause. This wouldn't do. It was not on his books to be drawn into an extended conversation with Bigelow's superintendent. He would have to fall back on lying if this were to keep up much longer. “Say,” he observed, “what was that fellow doing down in the water, hopping around on the logs with a long pole?” The Superintendent was beginning to lose interest. “He picks out logs of the right sizes.” “You don't mean to say he can tell just by looking at a log in the water what size it will cut to?” A curt nod was the only reply. “Isn't it remarkable how a man can get trained to things? Now if I were to try a thing like that------” But the Superintendent had fled. Halloran walked slowly on to the wharf, and stood watching the gangs that were carrying the heavy sticks over the rail of the steamer. Two steam hoists were clanking and rattling as the booms swung back and forth. Bosses were shouting and swearing--everywhere was confusion, but confusion that moved steadily onward toward the loading of the steamer. Halloran dodged around the labourers and walked along the wharf until he was opposite the engine-room door. Within was a fat man in overalls tinkering over the machinery. Halloran climbed up to the deck and stood in the doorway. “How are you?” he observed. “Nice day!” The engineer nodded. “You must be Mr. MacGregor, aren't you?” “That's my name.” “Mine is Halloran.” MacGregor looked up, surprised. “Yes, I am with Higginson & Company.” MacGregor did not know what to make of this. Halloran, however, went right on. “How do you like working for Bigelow?” And without leaving time to reply, he added: “Mean old humbug, ain't he?” “What do you know about Bigelow?” “Used to work for him myself. I had all I wanted of him. He isn't square. That's what brings me here. We need a good engineer, and Captain Craig tells me you are the best on the lakes. Is that so?”