CHAPTER XVI.THE FIRST FORENOON.
The following morning Frank Merriwell appeared at the roundhouse in overalls and jumper, ready for work. His working clothes were new and clean, in contrast to the clothes of the other wipers, who stared at him, grinned and made comments on his “dudish” appearance. Although Frank could hear nearly every word spoken, he paid not the slightest attention to anything the men said.He was there to work, and he waited for the foreman to appear and tell him what he was to do.
“He’ll leave quick,” declared one of the wipers.
“It’s two to one he’ll quit before noon,” said another.
“You’d win,” chuckled a third.
“Nivver a bit can yez tell about thot, me b’ys,” put in a young Irishman with a pleasant face. “He had th’ grit to b’ate th’ shtuffin’ oout av Ould Sloogs, an’ it’s a fair chance he’ll be afther havin’ th’ grit to shtay and wor-ruk, no matther av he don’t loike it. Oi’ll bet me money on him.”
Frank gave the speaker a grateful look. He saw a begrimed but rather comely youth of twenty, who looked as if he had a heart overflowing with good nature.
The wipers went to work, relieving those who were there, and the machinists appeared and began their tasks of the day.
After a little, Frank found himself left quite alone, and he began to feel restless and long to be doing something.
“Here, boy!”
A man was beckoning to him, and he hastened toward him.
“Workin’ here?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Get hold of this casting and help me lift it. I’ll carry the biggest part of it, for it’s heavy.”
Frank’s pride was touched. Immediately he stooped and picked up the heavy casting without assistance.
“Where will you have it, sir?” he asked.
The machinist gasped.
“Well—you’re—no—baby! Bring it over here.”
Frank obeyed and put it down as directed.
“That’s all right, young fellow,” said the machinist; “but I advise you not to keep it up. If you do, you’ll find all the heavy lifts shouldered onto you. I see you are new here. Don’t be too ambitious to show what you can do.”
“Thank you for the advice,” said Merry, quietly.
Then he looked around to discover something else to do, and it was not long before he found a task shoveling ashes. He was working steadily at this when the foreman passed.
Frank expected the foreman would stop and say something to him, but the man did not seem to notice him at all.
“All right,” thought Merry, grimly. “You told me to come prepared for work, and I’m here. I’m going to work, too.”
He found plenty to be done, and also discovered that the other wipers took great satisfaction in giving him the very dirtiest jobs. Still he did not complain, but, no matter what he was asked to do, he kept about his work steadily and quietly.
“How do you like it, dudie?” asked one of the wipers, mockingly.
“Speaking to me, sir?” inquired Frank, placidly.
“Yes.”
“My name is Merriwell.”
“Oh, it is?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, dudie is good enough, and that goes.”
“Hey, Bill,” called another wiper, “you don’t know who you’re chinnin’ there.”
“Why, I’m chinnin’ the new superintendent of the road,” grinned the taunting wiper.
“You’re talkin’ to the chap that knocked the stuffin’ out of Old Slugs yesterday.”
“The blazes I am! What, that soft-looking guy?”
“That’s the one.”
“Well, may I be gosh-darned!”
The man stared at Frank as if unable to believe such a thing possible.
“Why, he’s a kid!”
“If you think so, just get him after ye. Slugs gave you a thrashing, and you wouldn’t last half as long with that kid.”
After this the man did not call Frank “dudie” again, but there were others who did. Whenever two or three wipers were together in Frank’s vicinity, they did their best to jolly him.
Merry did not get angry. He knew that would be the worst thing for him. He said very little, but occasionally he made some retort, and in every case it proved cutting for the one at whom it was aimed. The men began to realize after a while that the soft-looking youth could use his tongue quite as skillfully as his fists.
What surprised everybody was the fact that Frank did not show hesitation in taking hold of any kind of a job, no matter how dirty. He was not squeamish, or, if he was, he did not betray it.
Nearly half the forenoon had passed before Franklearned that Martin Hall, or Old Slugs, as he was generally called, had not put in an appearance that morning, but was reported to be ill in bed, unable to work.
Then some strange workmen came round to see the boy who had whipped Old Slugs. They looked him over doubtfully, and were inclined to disbelieve the story.
“Slugs could chaw him up in a minute,” one declared.
“That’s what everybody thought till they saw him try it,” said a witness of the fight.
“Well, it must have been an accident if that boy knocked Slugs out.”
“It wasn’t no accident. It was the cleanest, smartest fightin’ I ever saw. Why, look at him! He don’t bear a mark, and Slugs is in bed, with his face all cut and plastered.”
“All right, if you say so; but I don’t understand it.”
All this was very embarrassing to Frank, who regretted the unfortunate occurrence that had made him so conspicuous in the roundhouse. He continued about his work, pretending that he did not hear the talk.
Long before noon Frank was smeared with dirt and grease. It was a strange experience to him, for all his life he had been immaculate about his dress and his person.
But he had started out to make his way in the world, and he had begun at the very foot of the ladder. No one understood better than he that there was no room at the top for shirkers. It was honest work, and he hoped for something better in the future.
He did not allow his mind to dwell on the pleasures that were past. He knew the winner in the battle of life is the one who looks forward, not backward.
Frank felt confidence in himself. He believed he would be able to rise in time, and he had entered the roundhouse with the determination to keep his eyes and ears open and learn everything possible as fast as possible.
Along toward noon, when it happened that there was no worse work for him to do, one of the wipers set him to aiding in cleaning up a locomotive.
It happened that the man was of a sociable turn, and he fell to talking with Frank, asking him many questions, all of which Merry answered truthfully.
“It don’t seem to me that you was cut out for this kind of work,” said the wiper. “But mebbe you may have luck and get somewhere. It’s mighty hard, though. Now, I know every part of an engine, and I can handle one as well as half the engineers, but I don’t get no show. I did think there was a chance for me to get on firing till the strike over on the P. B. & Y. That throwed lots of good men out of work, and some of them came right over here and found jobs firing or running engines, which knocked out us chaps who was waiting for an opening. No telling now when my turn’ll come.”
Frank did his best to cheer the man up, and then found his opportunity to ask a number of questions about the names of the different parts of the engine. Every explanation the wiper made to him he fixed in his mind, and, when noon came, he was satisfied that he had not let his first half day pass without learning something.
The foreman came up to him.
“I’ve had my eye on you this forenoon,” he said.
Frank started. He had not fancied that the foreman was noticing him at all.
“Yes; I’ve had my eye on you,” said the foreman. “You’ve worked all right, and you didn’t stand round with your hands in your pockets waiting for somebody to tell you what to do. You found enough to do, and you did it. That’s right. Keep on the same way. That’s all.”
Then he walked away, without another word.