"May I spend two thousand dollars, if I get this job done by noon?—that's the last minute, Mr. Duncan tells me."
"But how can you——"
"Never mind how. May I have the two thousand dollars?"
"Yes—twenty thousand—any amount, if only we succeed in pushing that car on rails across the county line before the clock strikes twelve."
"Very well. I'll see what I can do. Mr. Duncan, can you cook griddle cakes?"
"Happily, yes," answered he. "I'm an old soldier, you know."
"Very well, then. Please come here and cook for a little while—just till I get back. I won't be long."
Duncan took command of her two frying pans. A little amused smile appeared on his face as he did so, in spite of his discouragement and melancholy. But to the common sense and sincerity of the girl, there seemed nothing ludicrous in setting him thus to the undignified work. Intent upon her scheme, she darted away to where the several gangs of men were still making some pretense of working. To each gang, she said:
"I've got two thousand dollars for you men, if you stick to your work and finish it before noon to-day. I'll divide the money equally among all the men who stick. It will be ten dollars apiece, or more. Of course, you'll get your triple wages besides. Will you keep it up? It's only for a few hours more."
Her tone was eager, and her manner almost piteously pleading. Without the persuasiveness of her personal appeal, it is doubtful that the men would have yielded to the temptation of the extra earning. Even with her influence added, more than a third of them—those who had already cast their tools aside and surrendered to exhaustion—refused to go on again with a task to which they felt themselves hopelessly unequal. But in every gang she addressed, there was a majority of men who braced themselves anew, and responded. The very last of the gangs to whom she made her appeal put their response into the form of a cheer, and instantly the other gangs echoed it.