up by no frog-spawn."

He opened the office door and clumped up to the railing.

The superintendent looked up.

"What is it, Luna?"

"Long, on number ten battery, is sick and off shift. Shall we hang up
ten, or put on Morrison?"

The superintendent smiled.

"Is it Morrison, or hang up?" he asked.

The question was disconcerting. The foreman shifted his footing.

"Morrison is all right," he said, doggedly. "He's a good battery man.
Things ain't pushing at the Blue Goose, and he can come as well as not."

"What's the matter with Morrison?" The superintendent's smile broadened.

The foreman looked puzzled.

"I've just been telling you--he's all right."

"That's so. Only, back east, when a horse jockey gets frothy about the
good points of his horse, we look sharp."

The foreman grew impatient.

"You haven't told me whether to hang up ten or not."

"I'm not going to. You are foreman of the mill. Put on anyone you want;
fire anyone you want. It's nothing to me; only," he looked hard, "you
know what we're running this outfit for."

The foreman appeared defiant. Guilty thoughts were spurring him to
unwise defence.

"If the ore ain't pay I can't get it out."

"I'll attend to the ore, that's my business. Get out what there is in
it, that's yours." He leaned forward to his papers.

The foreman shifted uneasily. His defence was not complete. He was not
sure that he had been attacked. He knew Morrison of the Blue Goose. He
knew the workings of the mill. He had thought he knew the old man. He
was not so sure now. He was not even sure how much or how little he had
let out. Perhaps Pierre's words had rattled him. He shifted from foot to
foot, twirling his hat on his fingers. He half expected, half hoped, and
half waited for another opening. None came. Through the muffled roar of
the stamps he was conscious of the sharp scratch of the superintendent's
pen. Then came the boom of the big whistle. It was change of shift. The
jar of the office door closing behind him was not heard. At the mill he
found Morrison.

"You go on ten, in Long's place," he said, gruffly, as he entered the
mill.

Morrison stared at the retreating foreman.

"What in hell," he began; then, putting things together in his mind, he
shook his head, and followed the foreman into the mill.

The superintendent was again interrupted by the rasping of hobnailed
shoes on the office floor and the startled creak of the office railing
as a large, loo