She was wondering whether he would be affronted if she
said in her politest way, "I beg your pardon, but do you know you
have quite accidentally got something on your face," and offer her
handkerchief, which, of course, he would decline, when her eye fell on
the steam-engine.
"How odd! Do you use that on the farm?"
"No,"--he smiled here, the smudge accenting it and setting off his white
teeth in a Christy Minstrel fashion that exasperated her--no, although
it COULD be used, and had been. But it was his first effort, made two
years ago, when he was younger and more inexperienced. It was a rather
rough thing, she could see--but he had to make it at odd times with
what iron he could pick up or pay for, and at different forges where he
worked.
She begged his pardon--where--
WHERE HE WORKED.
Ah, then he was the machinist or engineer here?
No, he worked here just like the others, only he was allowed to put up a
forge while the grain was green, and have his bench in consideration of
the odd jobs he could do in the way of mending tools, etc.
Pages:
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154