“Another time you’ll say what you want at first.  You can’t prospect right through the menu,” she rebuked him.

In the meanwhile George had been describing his companions on the train to one of the men opposite.

“He told me he was located in the district, but I didn’t learn his name, and he didn’t get off here,” he explained.  “Do you know him?”

“Sure,” said the other.  “It’s Alan Grant, of Poplar, ’bout eighteen miles back.  Guess he went on to the next station—­a little farther, but it’s easier driving, now they’re dumping straw on the trail.”

“Putting straw on the road?” Edgar broke in.  “Why are they doing that?”

“You’ll see, if you drive out north,” the man answered shortly.  Then he turned to his better-dressed companion.  “What are you going to do with that carload of lumber we got for Grant?”

“Send the car on to Benton.”

“She’s billed here.”

“Can’t help that—­the road’s mistake.  Grant ordered all his stuff to Benton.  What he says goes.”

This struck George as significant—­it was only a man of importance whose instructions would be treated with so much deference.  Then the agent turned to Edgar.

“What do you think of this country?”

“The country’s very nice.  So far as I’ve seen them, I can’t say as much for the towns; they might be prettier.”

“Might be prettier?” exclaimed the agent.  “If they’re not good enough for you, why did you come here?”

“I’m not sure it was a very judicious move.  But, you see, I didn’t know what the place was like; and, after all, an experience of this kind is supposed to be bracing.”

The agent ignored Edgar after this.  He talked to George, and elicited the information that the latter meant to farm.  Then he got up, followed by two of the others, and the remaining man with the English appearance turned to George diffidently.

“Do you happen to want a teamster?” he asked.

“I believe I’ll want two,” was the answer.  “But I’m afraid I’ll have to hire Canadians.”

The man’s face fell.  He looked anxious, and George remembered having seen a careworn woman tearfully embracing him before their steamer sailed.  Her shabby clothes and despairing face had roused George’s sympathy.

“Well,” said the man dejectedly, “that’s for you to decide; but I’ve driven horses most of my life, and until I get used to things I’d be reasonable about the pay.  I was told these little places were the best to strike a job in; but, so far as I can find out, there’s not much chance here.”

George felt sorry for him.  He suddenly made up his mind.

“What are farm teamsters getting now?” he asked a man who was leaving an adjacent table.

“Thirty dollars a month,” was the answer.

“Thanks,” said George, turning again to the Englishman.  “Be ready to start with us to-morrow.  I’ll take you at thirty dollars; but if I don’t get my value out of you, we’ll have to part.”