The gang murmured an angry assent, and bent to their work again. Rod by rod they worked their way down the track, lifting, straining, tamping down the gravel. Occasionally a train thundered past, and they stood aside, leaning on their tools, glad of the moment’s rest. At last, away in the distance, Allan caught the faint sound of blowing whistles and ringing bells. The foreman took out his watch, looked at it, and closed it with a snap.
“Come on, boys,” he said. “It’s dinner-time!”
They went back together to the hand-car at the side of the road, which was their base of supplies, and slowly got out their dinner-pails. Allan was sent with a bucket to a farmhouse a quarter of a mile away to get some fresh water, and, when he returned, he found the men already busy with their food. They drank the cool water eagerly, for the hot sun had given them a burning thirst.
“Set down here,” said the foreman, “an’ dip in with me. I’ve got enough fer three men.”
And Allan sat down right willingly, for his stomach was protesting loudly against its continued state of emptiness. Never did cheese, fried ham, boiled eggs, bread, butter, and apple pie taste better. The compartment in the top of the dinner-pail was filled with coffee, but a share of this the boy declined, for he had never acquired a taste for that beverage. At last he settled back with a long sigh of content.
“That went t’ th’ right place, didn’t it?” asked Jack, with twinkling eyes.
“That it did!” assented Allan, heartily. “I don’t know what I’d have done if you hadn’t taken pity on me,” he added. “I was simply starving.”
“You had your breakfast this mornin’, didn’t y’?” demanded Jack, sharply.
Allan coloured a little under his fierce gaze.
“No, sir, I didn’t,” he said, rather hoarsely. “I couldn’t find any work to do, and I—I couldn’t beg!”