There it was, the green hill, the city, the sea and its commerce. But this was present and future; something must show what had been vanquished. Rather sadly Billy put in an Indian and a bear at the edge of the forest, both looking backward.
A sudden reminder came to him,—he was no longer a school-boy. With the resignation of his office of treasurer of the Good Citizens’ Club of the Fifth Avenue High he had severed every link between him and school. Yet he was still a club member,—that admitted him to the competition. He felt out of it all, old,—was he old before his time? He thought of his mother’s words, and then of Erminie, and—of May Nell.
After about twelve days Mr. Smith appeared suddenly. His shoes were dusty and his hands and cuffs soiled; but he was oddly jaunty, as if some great load had been lifted.
“Didn’t expect to see me, did you, Billy?”
Billy returned the greeting, and waited, wondering where his employer could have been.
“Great job, Billy! All done. As good a viaduct over that boulevard site as there is in the city. I’ve just been looking it over. Did you know it was building?”
Billy smiled. “I only suspected.”
“Good boy! You may see it now, any time you wish; but the men who built it won’t be there.”
Billy looked inquiringly but did not speak.
“It’s all right, boy; everything’s right. We’ll be riding on our own railroad in a week.”