"
"He's pitching his tent on the railroad's dirt, isn't he!"
"Yes, sir."
"Come along. We'll have a look at that place."
A few minutes of brisk walking brought the young engineers, the
superintendent and the three foremen to the spot.
Tent number one had been pitched. It was a circular tent, some forty
feet in diameter. The second tent, only a little smaller, was now being
hoisted.
"Who's in charge of this work?" asked Tom in his usual pleasant tone.
"My manager, Mr. Bemis--Dock Bemis," answered Jim Duff suavely, as he
moved forward to meet the party. "Dock, come here. I want you to know
Mr. Reade, the engineer in charge of this job."
Duff's manners were impudently easy and assured. The fellow known as
Dock Bemis, an unprepossessing, shabbily dressed man of thirty-five,
with a mean face and an ugly-looking eye, came forward.
"I'll take Mr. Bemis's acquaintance for granted," Tom continued, with an
easy smile. "You own this outfit, don't you, Mr. Duff?"
"I've rented it, if you mean the tents, tables and chairs," assented the
gambler.
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