“Mary Jane, don’t meddle. Children should be seen not heard.”
“Yes, father. Only ten minutes! Why, you’ve been ever and ever so long taking off less than half the ties. Can you finish in ten minutes? Can you?” she demanded, eagerly.
“Why, kid, what’s the hurry? Got another job for us, eh?”
“The hurry? The train. The two o’clock express. It’s almost due.”
The foreman’s face paled a trifle. Then he whistled.
“Whew, sis, you’re right! Jim, lead that team off the bank. We’ll just roll the rest down to the bottom and drive round there to load up. Now, with a will! there ain’t no time to spare! here she goes!”
The mules were led away by one man while the others exerted themselves to clear the tracks in any and every manner possible. There was no longer any talking. There were no false movements. They knew that there was no way of signalling the express, just there, even if there should be need. But there must be no need, the tracks must be cleared. Must be!
William Bump moved down upon the bank and watching from an apparently safe place called upon Mary Jane to follow him.
She did not hear him. She stood, resting upon her crutches, anxiously watching the toilers, straining forward, as if in that attitude she could help them, and listening—listening—with every nerve at tension. She did not see the Gray Gentleman, who had come into the park awhile before and having caught sight of his favorite’s pink frock, crossed the level space from the “Playgrounds” to the embankment to see what so interested her. As he reached the spot below the end of the trestle he, also, began to comprehend what was passing in Mary Jane’s mind and his own cheek whitened.
“Hark! It’s coming—it’s coming!” cried the girl. “Work—work!”