"Then come along." Phineas at once went close up to the machine, and at a signal from him the operator brought it to a rest.
"Howdy?" asked the young fellow. "Getting in at it, Mr. Barton?"
Under the tan which covered face and arms there was a sudden flush of pride which an ordinary individual might well have passed unnoticed. But Jim was slowly beginning to understand and realize something of the spirit that seemed to pervade every member of the whole staff engaged on the isthmus. For there was no doubt that the completion of the canal was a pet object to them one and all, an undertaking the gradual progress of which filled them with an all-absorbing interest. Each mouthful of dirt, for instance, which this steam digger tore from the ground and shot from its capacious maw into the earth trains was a little more progress, something further attained towards that grand and final completion to which all were sworn.
"Howdy? Say, Harry boy, this here's Jim. You've heard of that little business we had on the way to New York?"
The young man nodded, and regarded Jim critically. "Wall?" he asked curtly.
"He's the lad that came along after me when I was left aboard the foundering vessel."
The one who had been addressed as Harry dropped his hands from the levers, swung round on his seat the better to gaze at our hero, and, still with his eyes on Jim, replied to Phineas.
"I read it in the paper," he admitted. "How did it happen?"
Phineas promptly gave him the narrative, Harry meanwhile keeping his eyes on Jim. Then, when he learned that our hero had decided to stay on the isthmus, and seek work there, he climbed out of the narrow cab bolted to the side of the digger, dropped lightly to the ground, and, walking straight up to Jim, held out his hand.
"It's men we want here," he said pleasantly. "Guess you're one. Glad to shake hands with an American who's done a good turn for my friend Phineas. What job are you after?"