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A. B. Wadleigh, the writer's assistant in this section at that time. When the writer left the steel works, the Bethlehem piece workers were the finest body of picked laborers that he has ever seen together. They were practically all first-class men, because in each case the task which they were called upon to perform was such that only a first-class man could do it.
Wadleigh was standing at the door, in the sparkling light, giving her last motherly injunction to the departing guest. "You know where the depot is? An' it's the nine o'clock train you've got to take. An' you remember what I said about hayin' time.
He obeyed, seemingly from the inertia of utter surprise. Midway in the act of lifting the stove-cover, he glanced at her in sharp, suspicion. "Where's the rest?" he asked, savagely. "You ain't alone?" "Well, I guess I'm alone!" returned Mrs. Wadleigh, drawing off her icy stocking-feet, "an' walked all the way from Cyrus Pendleton's!
"Cut it, Drayne. And don't you two talk back, either," warned Wadleigh sternly. "Oh, acknowledge the corn, Drayne," broke in Hudson, with what he meant for good humor. "Just say you're no good and let it go at that." There was a dead silence, for an instant, broken by one unidentified fellow, muttering in a voice that sounded like a roar in the silence: "Drayne? Humph!" "There you go!
"I didn't do anything for you, Hen," Prescott retorted, with one of his dry smiles. "You didn't?" gasped Wadleigh. "No, sir! I did it for the school. I wanted to see our team have the best possible captain and the winning eleven!" Bert and Bayliss happened to be passing the gymnasium when they heard of the selection of Wadleigh. "Bert," whispered Bayliss, "I believe you're at least half a man!"
An' when I got starved out, an' my feet were most froze walkin', I see this house, all shet up, an' I come here." He paused; and the silence was broken only by the slow, cosey ticking of the liberated clock. "Well!" said Mrs. Wadleigh, at last, in a ruminating tone. "Well! well! Be you a drinkin' man?" "I never was till I lost my job," he answered, sullenly. "I had a little then.
Wadleigh, composedly, as she trimmed the top of her shoe preparatory to binding it. "Well, you see'f I ain't!" "In the fust place," went on Mrs. Pendleton, nervously, "the cross-road ain't broke out, an' you can't git there. I dunno's a horse could plough through; an' s'posin' they could, Cyrus ain't no more fit to go out an' carry you over'n a fly." "Don't you worry," said Mrs.
You le'me in, or I shall git my death o' cold!" No answer; and then Mrs. Wadleigh, as she afterwards explained it, "got mad." She ploughed her way round the side of the house, not the side where she had seen the face, but by the "best-room" windows, and stepped softly up to the back door. Cyrus Pendleton's nail was no longer there. The man had easily pushed it out.
We were proceeding in fancied security, but these fellows have been on our track. This is not the scheme of a night. We have met a setback that will keep us poor for six months. We will not dare move until we ascertain just how far they are on to us." "I knew something was up when we discovered that fellow shadowing Wadleigh.
It was a hard pill for Captain Wadleigh and his men to swallow. In the interval between the halves the local band played, but the former dash was now noticeably absent from its music. The Gridley colors drooped. Dave Darrin glanced covertly, though anxiously, at his chum. Was Dick really unfit to play? Dave wondered.
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