“Nivver a bit can yez tell about thot, me b’ys,” put in a young Irishman with a pleasant face. “He had th’ grit to b’ate th’ shtuffin’ oout av Ould Sloogs, an’ it’s a fair chance he’ll be afther havin’ th’ grit to shtay and wor-ruk, no matther av he don’t loike it. Oi’ll bet me money on him.”
Frank gave the speaker a grateful look. He saw a begrimed but rather comely youth of twenty, who looked as if he had a heart overflowing with good nature.
The wipers went to work, relieving those who were there, and the machinists appeared and began their tasks of the day.
After a little, Frank found himself left quite alone, and he began to feel restless and long to be doing something.
“Here, boy!”
A man was beckoning to him, and he hastened toward him.
“Workin’ here?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Get hold of this casting and help me lift it. I’ll carry the biggest part of it, for it’s heavy.”
Frank’s pride was touched. Immediately he stooped and picked up the heavy casting without assistance.