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In response to the signals of McGraw, the engine started slowly shoreward. Before the train had moved many yards the slack of the steel rope was taken up. It tautened and drew up almost to a straight line, so tense that it sang like a violin string in the sharp wind gusts. Then the steel-laden cars creaked, started, and rolled shoreward after the train, groaning under their burden.
Well, a hell-cat of a society woman sued her husband for divorce and named Miss Corcoran. Pure viciousness, it was. There wasn't a shadow of proof, or even suspicion." "I remember something about that case. The woman withdrew the charge, didn't she?" "When it was too late. Red McGraw had an early tip and sent me to interview Marna Corcoran.
"Nonsense! To-morrow is the second anniversary of our engagement." "My Lord, Gertrude, have we been engaged two years? Why, at that rate I can't possibly marry you till I'm forty-four." "It isn't two years, it's two months. And to-night they have their memorial services for poor Paddy McGraw. And, do you know, your friend Mr. Foley has our engine now?
Those letters came with unfailing regularity, and in that city where Bob McGraw prowled through the day, unknown and unnoticed, there was no man so free from the curse of loneliness as he.
Had the murmurs of rebellion risen to a point where I was planning to abandon McGraw, my new friend must have blocked me. He regarded me as his property. He installed me in the bare little room which for four years was to be my home. He took me to his own quarters and there gave me such a glimpse of my new life as to make me forget my momentary disillusionment.
"Could they possibly freeze while they are out, do you think?" "Sure, they could; but them boys know too much for that. Mr. Glover stays out a week at a time in this kind; he don't care. That man Paddy McGraw is his head engineer in the bucking gang; he don't care them fellows don't care. But I've got a wife at the Cat and two babies, that's my fix.
May be able to save you bother by carrying orders out to McGraw or checking over reports for you." He picked up the vellum-cloth drawings of the central span and some of the blueprints, and began in a matter-of-fact manner to roll them up. "Hold on!" sharply interposed Ashton. "What are you about?" "I'm going to bunk with McGraw. Thought I'd take these over and try to get in touch with the work."
Presently he looked up at her again, with the same dominating, wistful entreaty in his brown eyes. She lowered her head until her cheek rested against his, and his arm went upward and around her neck. "God made you for me" he whispered. "I love you, and my name is Bob McGraw. I guess I'll get well." "Beloved," she breathed, "of course you'll get well. I want you to."
Now, this basis constituted the horns of a dilemma upon which Bob McGraw had once found himself impaled in an attempt to purchase three hundred and twenty acres of timbered land in the public domain land which he knew would, in the course of a few years, become very valuable.
Sandy McGraw presented it, and had written upon the fly leaf: "To the dearest friend we ever had we give this book as a slight token of how much we love her." Then followed upon a sheet of paper the names of the donors and how much each gave.
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