The Whip Hand: A Tale of the Pine CountryMerwin, Samuel
General
The Whip Hand: A Tale of the Pine Country
Merwin, Samuel
Great Lakes Region (North America) -- Fiction; Love stories; Lumber trade -- Fiction
“The whistle will be the signal, then?”
“Yes. I've told MacGregor to blow until he hears the bark of every dog
in town. I want to get this all fixed in the morning, and so fixed that
there can't be any misunderstandings. Any time after to-morrow noon,
if that whistle blows, it means get to the yards in two minutes or lose
your job. You'd better tell them that.”
“All right; I'll see to it. But gee whiz!” Crosman leaned back and
looked at Halloran. “Here we're talking about this just as if it was
going to happen.”
“Well, maybe it is. Anyhow, that's how we've got to look at it. I'd talk
to the boys that way, too.” He rose and sat on the corner of the table,
looking down earnestly at the other. “They've got to understand that
we mean business. And say, look here, Crosman; what are we sitting here
talking about this for? Why aren't we doing it to-night?”
Crosman's expression dropped from serious to dismal. “Why--why--all
right.”
“Sorry if I'm butting into any plans of yours, but good Lord, old man,
have you stopped to think what this means? Here I'd got my mind settled
on to-morrow when I ought to have known all the while that to-day was
the time. We'll do it now. You look up the boys on that paper and I'll
root mine out and have them bring the hose over. We'll get everything in
shape before we go to bed.”
The assistant was caught up and whirled along by Halloran's energy. “All
right,” he repeated. “But I ought to call Mamie up. She's--she's--I was
thinking of going around there.”
“Use my telephone. Excuse me if I start right out, won't you?”
Before Crosman could stammer a “Certainly,” he had snatched up his hat
and disappeared.
Disagreeable as rush orders might be to a man with his family about him
of an evening, there was nothing to be said; and within an hour some
were starting out for duty on watch, or for a night on one of the
steamers, while others dragged the hose-reel out of the town and across
the bridge to the yards and put it in order for instant use. When the
preparations were completed, toward eleven o'clock, Halloran called the
men together and gave them their final instructions.
Crosman and he were left alone for a moment when the last man had gone
to his post.
“Well--that's a good job done,” observed the assistant. “I guess there's
nothing more, is there?”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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