Mike scratched his head. “Wor it thorty dollars this toime?”
“It wor,” replied the other. “Moike, yez hev a mimory.”
A big Negro pushed out his huge jaw and blustered at his fellows.
“I’s a-gwine to bust thet yaller nigger’s haid,” he declared.
“Bill, he’s your fr’en’. Cool down, man, cool down,” replied a comrade.
A teamster was writing a letter in lead-pencil, using a board over his knees.
“Jim, you goin’ to send money home?” queried a fellow-laborer.
“I am that, an’ first thing when I get my pay,” was the reply.
“Reminds me, I owe for this suit I’m wearin’. I’ll drop in an’ settle.”
A group of spikers held forth on a little bank above the railroad track, at a point where a few weeks before they had fastened those very rails with lusty blows.