See that bend down there? That's
where she'll jam millions of tons of ice. Then she'll jam in the bends
up above, millions of tons. Upper jam breaks first, lower jam holds,
pouf!" He dramatically swept the island with his hand. "Millions of
tons," he added reflectively.
"And what of the woodpiles?" Davy questioned.
The Kid repeated his sweeping gestures and Davy wailed, "The labor of
months! It canna be! Na, na, lad, it canna be. I doot not it's a jowk.
Ay, say that it is," he appealed.
But when the Kid laughed harshly and turned on his heel, Davy flung
himself upon the piles and began frantically to toss the cordwood back
from the bank.
"Lend a hand, Donald!" he cried. "Can ye no lend a hand? 'T is the
labor of months and the passage home!"
Donald caught him by the arm and shook him, but he tore free. "Did ye no
hear, man? Millions of tons, and the island shall be sweepit clean."
"Straighten yersel' up, man," said Donald. "It's a bit fashed ye are."
But Davy fell upon the cordwood. Donald stalked back to the cabin,
buckled on his money belt and Davy's, and went out to the point of the
island where the ground was highest and where a huge pine towered above
its fellows.
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