"Hello!" he exclaimed. "Got a new wrecking-boss?"
The superintendent nodded. "I have one in the making. Dawson wanted to
come along and try his hand."
"Did Gridley send him?"
"No; Gridley is away somewhere."
"So Fred's your understudy, is he? Well, I've got one, too. I'll show
him to you after a while."
They were walking back over the ties toward the half-buried 195. The
ten-wheeler was on its side in the ditch, nuzzling the opposite bank of
a low cutting. Dawson had already divided his men: half of them to place
the huge jack-beams and outriggers of the self-contained steam lifting
machine to insure its stability, and the other half to trench under the
fallen engine and to adjust the chain slings for the hitch.
"It's a pretty long reach, Fred," said the superintendent. "Going to try
it from here?"
"Best place," said the reticent one shortly.
Lidgerwood was looking at his watch.
"Williams will be due here before long with a special from Copah. I
don't want to hold him up," he remarked.
"Thirty minutes?" inquired the draftsman, without taking mind or eye off
his problem.
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