We fixed some stout planks into a run-way between the top of a brick-pile and the freight car, after the door had been unbarred. We found a shallow and creaky barrow under a shed. After helping me fill it with the first load, Brock tried to wheel into the car what we had put in. He gained the edge of the plank, and the ill-balanced load dumped over on the ground.
“We put in too many, to begin with,” suggested Brock. “Next time we’ll reduce the load by half. I forgot they were so heavy. I was too ambitious.”
The next load went across the planks successfully, and after they had been dumped on the floor of the car, Brock said,
“I’ll pack these in the car the way the man told me, and then when the load is properly started, we can take turns with the barrow.”
At first it was exciting and warm work, but after the first warm glow had died down in the blood, my body began to stiffen with the exposure. Then my muscles, ill-treated by excessive and continuous lifting of the loads, began to tighten and shoot with pain. But at first, I did not care to let Brock know, Brock, who was snugly shielded from the wind, with the easier and less straining task. But he must have noticed me gasp in with a load for he suddenly leaped to his feet and said,
“Your turn here, now, Priddy. Give me the barrow!”
I flung myself to the dusty floor of the car when he relieved me of the barrow and never lifted a hand until I heard him coming with his first load. Then I picked up a brick and fitted it in one of the rows, and tried to say cheerfully, when he entered,
“Is that placed right, Brock?”
“All right, Priddy,” he replied, and then went out whistling with the barrow.
With the change in the task, I recuperated somewhat, and worked on with the thought warming me, that every hour added twenty cents in cash to my credit. When the first twenty cents had been earned, I took heart and said to myself,