“That young cub, Reade, is no idler.” thought the chief, as he stepped into the open.
Tom kept steadily at work.
Ten minutes later, Thurston still being absent, Eugene Black strolled into the tent. He glanced at Tom’s drawing with some contempt, then inquired:
“Drawing, boy?”
“Why, not?” laughed Tom. “I’m only one of the stable boys, and, as you can see, I’m currying a horse.”
“Stop that sort of nonsense with me, right at the start,” flashed Black angrily, striding closer. “I don’t allow boys to be fresh with me.”
“Where’s the boy?” drawled Tom, turning slightly, for a better view of the stranger’s face.
“You’re one,” snapped Black.
“What are you?” Tom asked curiously.
“I’m an engineer.”