“I am afraid it will not by the look of the sky down there,” ventured Steelman.
“No, I go mostly by the look of our weather prophet,” said the boss with a quiet smile, indicating the gloomy man.
“I suppose bad weather would put you back in your work?”
“Yes, it will; we didn’t want any bad weather just now.”
Steelman got the weather question satisfactorily settled; then he said:
“You seem to be getting on with the railway.”
“Oh yes, we are about over the worst of it.”
“The worst of it?” echoed Steelman, with mild surprise: “I should have thought you were just coming into it,” and he pointed to the ridge ahead.
“Oh, our section doesn’t go any further than that pole you see sticking up yonder. We had the worst of it back there across the swamps—working up to our waists in water most of the time, in midwinter too—and at eighteenpence a yard.”
“That was bad.”