"I believe you owe me some money, boss," he rubbed his palms and chuckled expectantly.
The carriers chose that exact moment to enter the shed, large men with empty carts ready to haul out the day's production. And the workers around were eager to fill them in on what had just happened, words tumbling over each other in their rush to explain the bet, the impossible improvement, the results that shouldn't have been possible.
Finn stood there with that grin, supremely pleased with himself.
But Old Dog Mendoza watched with surprising calm. The man even looked thoughtful, his scarred face contemplative rather than angry or embarrassed. He stared at the two sacks: the fully filled one and the other nearly half full. Then he looked at the sacks of other workers scattered throughout the shed. Then his eyes moved to the number of stacked oakum ropes still remaining to be done.
Finally, his gaze settled back on Finn.
He nodded slowly. "I'm a man of my word. I'll pay you immediately."
