14 THE LOG OF A TIMBER CEUISEE 



"I could," he laughed. "I ought to be able to! 

 I've worked at it most all my life. But," he added 

 blandly, ignoring the question in our eyes, "I'd 

 rather earn my living as I do. . . . Let's have 

 another, what do you say?" 



Frazer shrugged his shoulders. As we lined up 

 at the bar he said, casually, ".We move to-morrow, 

 you know, Ewing!" 



"Yes, I know. I'll be on deck all'right. I've got 

 to play for the dance to-night; the boys expect it. 

 But I'll be on the job in the morning. Better come 

 on over this evening," he added, as we turned away, 

 "you and the rest. You might see some fun." 



None of us, however, accepted the suggestion. 

 We decided to enjoy instead a last sleep "between 

 sheets." But we heard until late the shuffle and 

 stamp of feet, the shrill laughter of women, the 

 deeper, louder voices of the men, and through the 

 confused medley of sounds the singing of Swing's 

 magic violin, sweet, insistent, weaving its living 

 melody, making articulate in many tones the deter- 

 mined, fleeting joy of the dancers. 



