Then some strange workmen came round to see the boy who had whipped Old Slugs. They looked him over doubtfully, and were inclined to disbelieve the story.
“Slugs could chaw him up in a minute,” one declared.
“That’s what everybody thought till they saw him try it,” said a witness of the fight.
“Well, it must have been an accident if that boy knocked Slugs out.”
“It wasn’t no accident. It was the cleanest, smartest fightin’ I ever saw. Why, look at him! He don’t bear a mark, and Slugs is in bed, with his face all cut and plastered.”
“All right, if you say so; but I don’t understand it.”
All this was very embarrassing to Frank, who regretted the unfortunate occurrence that had made him so conspicuous in the roundhouse. He continued about his work, pretending that he did not hear the talk.
Long before noon Frank was smeared with dirt and grease. It was a strange experience to him, for all his life he had been immaculate about his dress and his person.
But he had started out to make his way in the world, and he had begun at the very foot of the ladder. No one understood better than he that there was no room at the top for shirkers. It was honest work, and he hoped for something better in the future.
He did not allow his mind to dwell on the pleasures that were past. He knew the winner in the battle of life is the one who looks forward, not backward.