"I'm
going back to get it."
"Not through my pooms!" cried Heinzman.
"Mr. Heinzman," said Orde severely, "you are obstructing a navigable
stream. I am doing business, and I cannot be interfered with."
"But my logs!" cried the unhappy mill man.
"I have nothing to do with your logs. You are driving your own
logs," Orde reminded him.
Heinzman vituperated and pounded the gunwale.
"Go ahead, Marsh!" said Orde.
The tug gathered way. Soon Heinzman was forced to let go. For a
second time the chains were snapped. Orde and Marsh looked back
over the churning wake left by the SPRITE. The severed ends of the
booms were swinging back toward either shore. Between them floated
a rowboat. In the rowboat gesticulated a pudgy man. The river was
well sprinkled with logs. Evidently the sorting was going on well.
"May as well go back to the works," said Orde. "He won't string
them together again to-day--not if he waits for that tug he sent
Simpson for."
Accordingly, they returned to the booms, where work was suspended
while Orde detailed to an appreciative audience the happenings
below. This tickled the men immensely.
"Why, we hain't sorted out more'n a million feet of his logs," cried
Rollway Charlie.
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