Ben rubbed his hands in
ecstasy and pranced up and down watching 'em for awhile. Then he went
over and told the foreman there'd be extra pay for all hands if they got
a whole block tore up by noon, because this was a rush job. Hundreds of
people was passing, mind you, including a policeman now and then, but no
one took any notice of a sight so usual. All the same the rest of us
edged north about half a block, ready to make a quick getaway. Ben kept
telling us we was foolishly scared. He offered to bet any one in the
party ten to one in thousands that he could switch his gang over to
Broadway and have a block of that track up before any one got wise.
There was no takers.
Ben was now so pleased with himself and his little band of faithful
workers that he even begun to feel kindly again toward his New Yorker
who was still standing in one spot with glazed eyes. He goes up and
tries to engage him in conversation, but the lad can't hear any more
than he can see. Ben's efforts, however, finally start him to muttering
something. He says it over and over to himself and at last we make out
what it is.
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