For a moment Thorpe could not make out what had happened.This turmoil was so different from the dead quiet of desertion he had expected, that he was unable to gather his faculties.All about him were familiar faces upturned to his own.He distinguished the broad, square shoulders of Scotty Parsons, Jack Hyland, Kerlie, Bryan Moloney; Ellis grinned at him from the press; Billy Camp, the fat and shiny drive cook; Mason, the foreman of the mill; over beyond howled Solly, the tug captain, Rollway Charley, Shorty, the chore-boy; everywhere were features that he knew.As his dimming eyes travelled here and there, one by one the Fighting Forty, the best crew of men ever gathered in the northland, impressed themselves on his consciousness.Saginaw birlers, Flat River drivers, woodsmen from the forests of Lower Canada, bully boys out of the Muskegon waters, peavey men from Au Sable, white-water dare-devils from the rapids of the Menominee--all were there to do him honor, him in whom they had learned to see the supreme qualities of their calling.On the outskirts sauntered the tall form of Tim Shearer, a straw peeping from beneath his flax-white mustache, his eyes glimmering under his flax-white eyebrows.He did not evidence as much excitement as the others, but the very bearing of the man expressed the deepest satisfaction.Perhaps he remembered that zero morning so many years before when he had watched the thinly-clad, shivering chore-boy set his face for the first time towards the dark forest.
Big Junko and Anderson deposited their burden on the raised platform of the office steps.Thorpe turned and fronted the crowd.
At once pandemonium broke loose, as though the previous performance had been nothing but a low-voiced rehearsal.
The men looked upon their leader and gave voice to the enthusiasm that was in them.He stood alone there, straight and tall, the muscles of his brown face set to hide his emotion, his head thrust back proudly, the lines of his strong figure tense with power,--the glorification in finer matter of the hardy, reliant men who did him honor.
"Oh, aren't you PROUD of him?" gasped Hilda, squeezing Helen's arm with a little sob.
In a moment Wallace Carpenter, his countenance glowing with pride and pleasure, mounted the platform and stood beside his friend, while Morton and the two young ladies stopped half way up the steps.
At once the racket ceased.Everyone stood at attention.
"Mr.Thorpe," Wallace began, "at the request of your friends here, I have a most pleasant duty to fulfill.They have asked me to tell you how glad they are to see you; that is surely unnecessary.They have also asked me to congratulate you on having won the fight with our rivals.""You done 'em good." "Can't down the Old Fellow," muttered joyous voices.
"But," said Wallace, "I think that I first have a story to tell on my own account.
"At the time the jam broke this spring, we owed the men here for a year's work.At that time I considered their demand for wages ill-timed and grasping.I wish to apologize.After the money was paid them, instead of scattering, they set to work under Jack Radway and Tim Shearer to salvage your logs.They have worked long hours all summer.They have invested every cent of their year's earnings in supplies and tools, and now they are prepared to show you in the Company's booms, three million feet of logs, rescued by their grit and hard labor from total loss."At this point the speaker was interrupted."Saw off," "Shut up,""Give us a rest," growled the audience."Three million feet ain't worth talkin' about," "You make me tired," "Say your little say the way you oughter," "Found purty nigh two millions pocketed on Mare's Island, or we wouldn't a had that much," "Damn-fool undertaking, anyhow.""Men," cried Thorpe, "I have been very fortunate.From failure success has come.But never have I been more fortunate than in my friends.The firm is now on its feet.It could afford to lose three times the logs it lost this year---"He paused and scanned their faces.
"But," he continued suddenly, "it cannot now, nor ever can afford to lose what those three million feet represent,--the friends it has made.I can pay you back the money you have spent and the time you have put in---" Again he looked them over, and then for the first time since they have known him his face lighted up with a rare and tender smile of affection."But, comrades, I shall not offer to do it: the gift is accepted in the spirit with which it was offered---"He got no further.The air was rent with sound.Even the members of his own party cheered.From every direction the crowd surged inward.
The women and Morton were forced up the platform to Thorpe.The latter motioned for silence.
"Now, boys, we have done it," said he, "and so will go back to work.
From now on you are my comrades in the fight."His eyes were dim; his breast heaved; his voice shook.Hilda was weeping from excitement.Through the tears she saw them all looking at their leader, and in the worn, hard faces glowed the affection and admiration of a dog for its master.Something there was especially touching in this, for strong men rarely show it.
She felt a great wave of excitement sweep over her.Instantly she was standing by Thorpe, her eyes streaming, her breast trobbing with emotion.
"Oh!" she cried, stretching her arms out to them passionately, "Oh!
I love you; I love you all!"
End
