“I don’t believe even you would notice it in passing,” said Stanley, reddening violently under the compliment of the veteran’s clutch. “The trailer of lichen I passed across the trunk conceals my work entirely.”
“After this,” mumbled Abner in a low voice, “I’ll tell folks that Reddy—I mean Mister Stanley Malcolm—took me kindly in charge on my last cruise. If anyone asks if ye’re working fer me I’ll say, ‘Hardly, my friend. I am lucky to have a chance to work fer him.’”
“Nonsense, Mr. Whitten,” gladly laughed Stanley. “I am awfully pleased over it because I knew it would please you. But all the credit is due to you. You allowed me to come, you have kindly allowed me to bother you. By a pure accident I find the record.”
“But where are we going?” remonstrated Bub, as Abner abruptly resumed his course.
“Going?” he sniffed. “Where d’ye s’pose we was going? We’re going after that there strip of bark.”
“But the Nace outfit?” cried Bub.
“Bah! I ain’t afraid of ’em now. We’ve won out and my fighting blood is up. We’re going back to Flat-Top. Then we’ll make the mills. After that I’ll take a little vacation with Noisy Charlie and polish them gentlemen off a
