It was this feeling of necessity which got Bob up next morning before the blackness of the night was more than faintly tinged by streaks of pale gray in the east. He wanted to be off and doing; even necessary inaction chafed. It seemed an eternity before the men had finished breakfast, and were ready for the day’s work. As a matter of fact, they took less time than usual, for something of Bainbridge’s intense eagerness for speed seemed to have made itself felt. All morning Bob worked like a Trojan getting the drive out into the Katahdin River. He did not storm and swear at his men, as many bosses do. Instead he had a way of jollying them along in a manner which might sound superficially like fun, but which held more than an undercurrent of seriousness. He treated them as human beings, not as if they were slaves from whom every last atom of work was to be extracted. And yet, when the need arose, he could hand out a rebuke, the caustic sting of which was enough to make a man’s hair stand on end. The result was that the crew soon admired him, and when they found how urgent was the need for haste they fell to with a will, and gave the best that was in them. Bainbridge was not long in perceiving their attitude, and it gratified him intensely. He had never actually had charge of a drive before. He knew the theory, of course, but that is very different from the practical operation; and the discovery that he could handle a rough-and-ready crowd like this in a manner so totally different from that generally practiced by bosses of crews gave him no small satisfaction. By dint of constant labor, at which Bob spared neither himself nor his men, the drive was successfully swung into the slightly larger river by two o’clock. There was no real respite even then. The stream was almost as difficult as the Megantic, and constant watchfulness was necessary to prevent fresh jams at a number of points. Consequently the men snatched a hurried dinner in relays and hustled back to work again. It was about three, and Bob had just left the spot where only the most strenuous personal labor on the part of himself and four river jacks had kept the drive from jamming. He was hot and sweaty, and generally weary as he continued his way downstream, and his wrath was naturally instant when, on suddenly rounding a bend, he came upon Curly Kollock, cool, calm, and unruffled, sitting comfortably on a rock, enjoying a cigarette. As the latter saw Bainbridge, he flushed slightly, and half rose from the bowlder. Then, with a stubborn twist of his lips, he sank back again, pulling hard on the cigarette, and doing his best to look unconcerned. Bob walked straight up to him, and stopped. “Well,” he said bitingly, “I’m sorry you’ve lost the use of your feet and hands. Is it paralysis?”