“And your father?”
“I know not where he is.”
“Hum! You’ve had hard luck. But you are not fit to become a wiper. Why, the men would not give you any peace. They would regard you as a dude, and worry you to death.”
The youth smiled.
“I think I can take care of myself, sir,” he said, with quiet confidence. “Haven’t I proved that?”
“By George! I really believe you can! And you seem to be in earnest. I shouldn’t like to bother with you if you are going to get sick in a few hours or a day or two and leave your work. Too many such chaps start in here.”
“I give you my word that you need not fear that I will leave within a day, or a week—or a month.”
“I hardly think you will. If you have the right sort of stuff in you you will work up. I began as wiper, as did the master mechanic and nearly all the engineers on this road. There are some good men among them, too.”
“I believe that.”
“Have you any relatives to support—brothers, sisters, or anything like that?”