“Now get up,” David said. “I’m sorry, too, I had to hurt you and I hope it won’t be necessary to do it again. It depends on you.” Picking up his rope he continued his occupation as unconcernedly as if nothing had happened. Miguel got up and walked toward one of the huts. The others, however, remained, watching David’s efforts and giving him a good deal of helpful advice which he was glad to have. Day after day the work of collecting the rubber sap continued. The unvaried nature of the work was monotonous. Each morning David tramped up the long trail to its end and then went slowly homeward emptying the little leaf-cups into his pail and cutting new gashes into the trees as he went. The flow was increasing steadily and was of excellent quality. As a result of this the ball of rubber on the stick in the smokehouse grew rapidly. Each day’s work added another layer to the rapidly accumulating mass. The men, so it was said, received the equivalent of ten cents a pound for the rubber they collected. And as David was now adding not less than twenty pounds a day to his lot, it was amounting up rapidly. In covering his route one day he found that instead of the white liquid he had expected to find, many of the cups were filled with little cakes of a tough cheesy consistency and of a grayish color. He could not account for the sudden change. Removing one of the cups he pulled away the leaf in fragments, revealing the little cake in its entirety, and puzzled over it for some time. There was nothing to do but to collect the masses and replace the leaf-cups with new ones. Those containers that held latex as it should be were emptied into the pail. David removed his shirt and used it for a bag in which to carry the chunks of congealed substance. This took more time than usual and it was well past the noon hour when he reached camp. The men were in the smokehouses, busy with their occupation. It had occurred to David that the condition of his catch might be the result of some change in the weather, but when he saw the others with their pans of snowy liquid he knew that there must be some other reason. Dom Carlos, the foreman, happened to be in the hut when he entered. He was in his usual ugly mood and glared at David as he emptied the contents of his shirt on the floor. “What have you got there?” he called in a loud voice. “I don’t know what caused it,” David began, while some of the men started to laugh, “but it was nearly all like this today. I thought maybe it was the heat caused it.” “Who do you think I am, to try to give me such an excuse?” Carlos bellowed. “The heat! The heat! It must have affected you but not the rubber. It’s your own laziness spoiled it. You’ve wasted a day of your employer’s time and a lot of his property. Do you realize that?”