The Irish standard. [volume] (Minneapolis, Minn. ;) 1886-1920, 1912-01-20

fellow" volunteered the cook. HE
has but one hand'
The flush on Freckles' face burned
deeper. His lips thinned to mere
line. He lifted his shoulders. took a
step forward, and thrust out his right
arm. from which the sleeve dangled
empty at the wrist.
"That will do, Sears" came the voice
Of the boss sharply. II will interview
port"
Freckles stood one instant as he had
braced himself to meet the eyes of the
manager, then his arm dropped and
wave of whiteness swept over him.
The boss had not even turned his head
to see the deformity pointed out to
him. He had used the possessive.
When he said "my man" the hungry
heart Of Freckles went reaching out
after him. The boy drew quiverine
breath. Then he whipped off his old
hat and beat the dust from it care
fully. With his left hand he caught
the right sleeve, wiped his sweaty
face. and tried to straighten his hair
with his fingers. He broke spray OF
ironwort beside him and used the pur
pie blossoms to beat the dust from
his shoulders and limbs.
Mclean was Scotchman. The men
of his camps had never known him tt
be in hurry or to lose his temper
Discipline was inflexible, but the boss
always was kind. He shared camL
life with his gangs. The only visible
signs of his great wealth consisted OF
big, shimmering diamond stone OF
ice and fire that glittered and burned
on one of his fingers and the dainty.
beautiful, thoroughbred mare he rode
No man of McLean's gangs could
honestly say that he had ever been
overdriven or underpaid. They all
knew that up in the great timber city
several millions stood to his credit.
He was the only son of that Nc
Lean who had sent out the finest ships
ever built in Scotland. That his son
should carry on this business after his
death had been the fathers ambition
He sent the boy through Edinburgh
university and Oxford and allowed
him several years. travel
Then he was ordered through south.
ern Canada and Michigan to purchase
consignment of tall, straight timber
for masts and down into Indiana for
oak beams. The young man entered
these mighty forests. parts of which
still lay untouched since the dawn Of
the morning of time. Tho intense ST.
lence, like that of a great empty cathc
dral, fascinated him. He gradually
learned that to the shy wood crea-
lures that darted across his path or
peeped inquiringly from leafy ambush
he was brother. He found himself
approaching, with feeling Of rever
ence, those majestic trees that had
stood through ages Of sun, wind and
snow. Soon it became a difficult
thing to fell them. When he had fill
ed his order and returned home he
was amazed to find that in the swamps
and forests he had lost his heart, and
1t was calling, forever calling him.
When he inherited his fathers prop
erty he promptly disposed Of it and,
with his mother, founded a home in a
splendid residence in the outskirts Of
Grand Rapids. With three partners
he organized lumber company. His
work was to purchase, fell and ship
the timber to the mills. Marshall
managed the milling process and pass
ed the lumber on to the factory. From
the lumber Barthol made beautiful
and useful furniture, which Uptegrove
scattered all over the world from
big wholesale house.
Mclean faced young man, still I'M
der twenty, tall, spare. heavily framed,
thickly freckled and red haired, with
q homely Irish face. but in the steady
gray eyes, straightly meeting his
searching ones of blue. there were un-
swerving candor and a look Of long
ing not to be ignored.
"You are looking for work?" ques-
toned Mclean.
"Yis," answered Freckles..
II am very sorry" said the boss,
''but there is only one man want at
present-a good, big fellow with a
stout heart and a strong body. hoped
that you would do, but am afraid
you are too young and hardly strong
enough"
"And what was it you thought l
might be doing?" asked Freckles.
The boss could scarcely repress a
start. Somewhere back Of accident
and poverty had been an ancestor who
used cultivated English. even with an
accent. The boy spoke in mellow
Irish voice, sweet and pure. 1t was
scarcely definite enough to be called
brogue, yet there was trick in the
turning Of the sentence. the wrong
sound Of letter here and there, that
was almost irresistible to Mclean.
He was Of foreign birth, and, despite
years of alienation, in times of strong
feeling he fell into inherited sins of
accent and construction.
'Its no child's job" answered Nc
Lean. ''I am the field manager Of a
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