"I came out to find you," he managed to speak. "Elaine wants you to come back to lunch."
"What?"
Donaldson paused in his work and searched Arsdale's face.
"What did you say?" he demanded slowly.
"Elaine wants you to come back for lunch. She sent me to find you."
Arsdale saw Donaldson's lungs expand. He saw every vein in his face throb with new life. He saw him grow before his eyes to the capacity of two men. He saw him step forth from this aching begrimed shell into a new physique as vibrant with fresh strength as a young mountaineer. It was as startling a metamorphosis as though the man had been touched with a magician's wand.
"Thank you," answered Donaldson on a deep intake of breath. "I shall be glad to come."
"Drop your shovel then and come along now."
"No," he replied, as he dug his spade deep into the soil, "I can't quit my job. The whistle blows at noon."
At noon! At the seventh noon, the whistle was to blow! He tossed the weight of two ordinary shovelfuls of gravel into the cart as lightly as a child tosses a bean bag.