It’s well-nigh child’s play.  Nature’s fixed it that way.  Two cuttings, and a race-way on the river.  We flood this.  Feed it full of lumber in the summer with surplus from the cut and you’ve got that reserve for winter, so you can keep every darn machine grinding its guts out.  What’s the use talking?  Big notion?  Of course it is.  We’re out for big notions all the time.  That’s the whole proposition.  Well?”

Bat grinned at the heated disgust in the man’s tone.

“Sounds like eatin’ pie,” he retorted aggravatingly.  “The cost?  The labour?  Time?  You got those things?”

“It’s right up at your office now.”  Skert’s eyes widened in surprise at such a question.  “It’s not my way to play around.”

“No.”  Bat’s eyes refused seriousness.

“Oh, psha!  This is no sort of time chewing these details.  It’s figgered to the last second, the last man, the last cent.  I brought you to see things.  Well, you’ve seen things.  And if you’re satisfied we’ll quit right away.  I’ve no spare play time.”

There was no pretence of patience in Skert Lawton.  He had looked for appreciation and only found doubt.  He moved off.

Bat had done the thing intended.  He had no intention of hurting the man.  He understood the driving power of the mood he had stirred.

They moved off together.

“That’s all right, Skert,” he said kindly.  “You’ve done one big thing.  An’ it’s the thing Bull and I want—­”

“Then why in hell didn’t you say it instead of talking—­notions?”

For all the sharpness of his retort, Skert was mollified.  Bat shook his head and a shrewd light twinkled in his eyes.

“You’re a pretty bright boy, Skert,” he said.  “But you’re brightest when you’re riled.”

They had gained the river bank where booms lined the shore, and scores of men were rafting.  They had left the water-logged hollow behind them, and debouched on the busy world of the mill.  Ahead lay the new extensions where the saws were shrieking the song of their labours upon the feed for the rumbling grinders.  It was a township of buildings of all sizes crowding about the great central machine house.

They crossed the light footbridge over the “cut in” from the river, and moved along down the main highway of the northern shore.

Both were pre-occupied.  The engineer was listening to the note of his beloved machinery.  Bat was concerned with any and every movement going on within the range of his vision.  They walked briskly, the lean engineer setting a pace that kept the other stumping hurriedly beside him.

Abreast of the mill they approached a new-looking, long, low building.  It was single storied and lumber built, with a succession of many windows down its length.  The hour was noon.  And men were hurrying towards its entrance from every direction.

Bat watched interestedly.

“They seem mighty keen for their new playground,” he said at last, with a quick nod in the direction of the recreation house.