"I am stumped. You see, it is hard to explain things. I was so cocksure of myself—and—and—I was going to find a good position right away, and it hurts a fellow's pride like the mischief to own up that he was all wrong. And I don't want them to worry——"
Naughton nodded gravely and suggested:
"Shall I tell them about your impressions of the canal? You are right. We ought to send them no hard-luck stories."
"Go ahead, then. My first impressions were dents. I'm covered with them. You know more about the canal than I do."
Naughton scribbled industriously, and the patient seemed pleased with the results.
"Harrison will be over to see you soon," said the amanuensis. "You are going to help us dig the Big Ditch, so keep your nerve. Good-by and good luck until next time."
Walter was a low-spirited and restless patient. Now and then he forgot his troubles in chatting with the other men who had been brought into the accident ward. They had been wounded on the firing-line of this titanic conflict with Nature. Like good soldiers they were eager to be up and at it again. They worked and dared for something more than wages. They manifested intense pride and loyalty. It was their ambition to "stay with the job." Their talk was mostly of progress made, of new records set. Their spirit thrilled Walter, it was so fine and clean and worthy of the flag they served.
After three days the surgeon examined him carefully, and announced:
"You are fit to leave us, but you must take it easy. And that arm should be looked after. What are your plans?"