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By degrees the foreman's gibes grew less frequent. Kermode was more than a match for him, and his barbed replies were repeated with laughter about the camp; but his oppressor now relied on galling commands which could not be disobeyed. Kermode's companions sympathized with him, and waited for the inevitable rupture, which they thought would take a dramatic shape.
Kermode's hand pained him and in trying to save it he had strained his shoulder; but he encouraged the others, and they slowly pushed the load along, moving it a yard or two, and stopping for breath. The men on the bank were dawdling through the last few minutes, waiting to lay down their tools, and they offered the gang their sympathy as they passed.
Then there was a change in their attitude as the foreman strode up the track. "Shove!" he ordered. "Get a move on! You have to dump that rock before you quit." They were ready to turn on him and Kermode's eyes flashed; but he spoke quietly to his men: "Push!" A few more yards were covered, the foreman walking beside the gang until they stopped for breath. "Get on!" he cried.
However, I dare say it's something to be thankful for that we're not all made alike." "Kermode's unique," Prescott explained. "I'm of the plodding kind and I find that consequences catch me up. Kermode's different: he plunges into recklessness and the penalty falls on somebody else." "You don't mean by his connivance?" "Never! It's the last thing I meant. Kermode never shirks.
"You shouldn't have much difficulty in finding him. It's hardly possible for a man of his gifts to go through the country without leaving a plain trail behind." Prescott agreed with this. He had not much doubt of Kermode's identity, and he thought his missing friend would give any acquaintances he made on his travels cause to remember him.
Strikes me it wouldn't pay you to bring your hobos along." Mitcham looked at the others and saw that they were resolute. His enemies were masters of the situation. Bluster and threats would not serve him; but it was Kermode's amusement which caused him the most uneasiness. "Well," he said, "keep them while you can. You're going to be sorry for this!"
Another time, the bullying martinet was forced to jump into the muskeg, where he sank to the waist, in order to avoid a mass of ballast sent down before its descent was looked for. There was a difference of opinion about the cause of Kermode's holding out.
Nobody could remember who struck the first blow, but Kermode's left hand was injured, and he clinched as soon as he could. For a few minutes the men reeled about the track; and then with a tense effort Kermode pushed the foreman off the bank and went down with him.
He told her the story of his wanderings and what he had learned about Kermode's adventures. She listened with eager attention, and laughed now and then. "It's convincing on the face of it," she declared. "One feels that everything is exactly what Cyril Jernyngham must have done. Will you tell his father?" "No," Prescott answered gravely. "He wouldn't believe the tale."
The man he had heard described was Kermode's companion, and he could imagine their wandering up and down the province, one as irresponsible as the other; meeting with strange experiences, stubbornly braving the perils of the wilds; making themselves a nuisance to business men in the cities. The matter had, however, a more serious aspect.
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