He was aroused finally by a hearty greeting from behind him.  He turned without haste, surprise or pleasure to examine the new comer.

Bob saw surveying him a man well above sixty, heavy-bodied, burly, big, with a square face, heavy-jowled and homely, with deep blue eyes set far apart, and iron gray hair that curled at the ends.  With the quick, instinctive sizing-up developed on the athletic field, Bob thought him coarse-fibred, jolly, a little obtuse, but strong—­very strong with the strength of competent effectiveness.  He was dressed in a slouch hat, a flannel shirt, a wrinkled old business suit and mud-splashed, laced half-boots.

“Well, bub,” said this man, “enjoying the scenery?”

“Yes,” said Bob with reserve.  He was in no mood for casual conversation, but the stranger went on cheerfully.

“Like it pretty well myself, hereabouts.”  He filled and lighted a pipe.  “This is a good time of year for the woods; no mosquitos, pretty warm, mighty nice overhead.  Can’t say so much for underfoot.”  He lifted and surveyed one foot comically, and Bob noticed that his shoes were not armed with the riverman’s long, sharpened spikes.  “Pretty good hunting here in the fall, and fishing later.  Not much now.  Up here to look around a little?”

“No, not quite,” said Bob vaguely.

“This ain’t much of a pleasure resort, and a stranger’s a pretty unusual thing,” said the big man by way of half-apology for his curiosity.  “Up buying, I suppose—­or maybe selling?”

Bob looked up with a beginning of resentment against this apparent intrusion on his private affairs.  He met the good-humoured, jolly eyes.  In spite of himself he half smiled.

“Not that either,” said he.

“You aren’t in the company’s employ?” persisted the stranger with an undercurrent of huge delight in his tone, as though he were playing a game that he enjoyed.

Bob threw back his head and laughed.  It was a short laugh and a bitter one.

“No,” said he shortly, “—­not now.  I’ve just been fired.”

The big man promptly dropped down beside him on the log.

“Don’t say!” he cried; “what’s the matter?”

“The matter is that I’m no good,” said Bob evenly, and without the slightest note of complaint.

“Tell me about it,” suggested the big man soberly after a moment.  “I’m pretty close to Fox.  Perhaps——.”

“It isn’t a case of pull,” Bob interrupted him pleasantly.  “It’s a case of total incompetence.”

“That’s a rather large order for a husky boy like you,” said the older man with a sudden return to his undertone of bantering jollity.

“Well, I’ve filled it,” said Bob.  “That’s the one job I’ve done good and plenty.”

“Haven’t stolen the stove, have you?”

“Might better.  It couldn’t be any hotter than Collins.”

The stranger chuckled.

“He is a peppery little cuss,” was his comment.  “What did you do to him?”