"You're Luke Taylor's boy?"
"I am."
" Well, well—Who'd thought it!"
"And how did you know it?"
"Why you're a Taylor an' you're headed for White's camps to look after those logs, I suppose. Everybody here knows the trick that was turned on your daddy. Say, Taylor, that was a shame!" shaking his head. "I expect your daddy'll put the screws on White."
John said nothing; nothing of which he was conscious. He mumbled a few words and went back to his breakfast, not for nourishment, but for refuge from his own confusion. A trick, the man had said! Harris talked on, a genial ambler in conversation, drifting from logs and lumber to an odd assortment of topics, and when they left the dining room, they smoked together in the office.
It was noon before Taylor got under way. Harris took him to the garage where a narrow-faced boy wielded a wrench over the motor of a decrepit Ford. On the street men greeted Harris as good inferiors address a genial master.
"Yes," the boy said, he would make the trip when he had his motor working.
"If anybody can make her turn over, Lucius is the boy, " said Jim.
"You Godam know it," tittered Lucius.
Harris went his way. "Got to vote," he explained. "If you get over here again be sure and look me up, Taylor."
"Who's Harris?"
It was the first question John put to his driver as they
