"Well, good-bye; if there is no other way, we'll have it to swim."
We had gone probably a mile down the track and had begun to look out for a place to put in a few hours sleep, when looking back, I was overjoyed to discover a hand-car rapidly overtaking us.
Stepping into the middle of the track I signalled the car to stop.
"Hello, captain! we want to help you peddle that car across the bridge. Do you go that far?"
"Yes, I'm the track inspector, and go as far as Jacksonville," was the reply.
"Let us go?" I questioned.
"I don't know; I need two more men, but white men, as a rule, are no good peddling these cars on a long run," was the retort.
"I'm as strong as either of the two men now propelling you, sir," and, to prove the assertion, I rolled up my sleeve.
The man's eyes opened wide in astonishment, for notwithstanding I'm an asthma sufferer, his gaze rested on an arm that had undergone five years of hard physical culture training.
"You may go," he said, "and I'm glad to get you."