He seemed to have two minds. He saw every rod of the ten miles of
track laid every day, knew, as only an engineer could know, the
wonder of such progress; and, likewise, always in his sight, in his
mind, shone a face, red-lipped, soulful, lovely like a saint's, with
mournful violet eyes, star-sweet in innocence. Life had given Allie
Lee back to him--to his love and his memory; and all that could
happen to him now must be good. At first he had asked for nothing,
so grateful was he to fate, but now he prayed for hours and days and
nights to remember.
The day came when Neale graduated into the class of spikers. This
division of labor to him had always represented the finest spirit of
the building. The drivers--the spikers--the men who nailed the
rails--who riveted the last links--these brawny, half-naked wielders
of the sledges, bronzed as Indians, seemed to embody both the
romance and the achievement. Neale experienced a subtle perception
with the first touch and lift and swing of the great hammer. And
there seemed born in him a genius for the stroke. He had a free,
easy swing, with tremendous power. He could drive so fast that his
comrade on the opposite rail, and the carriers and layers, could not
keep up with him. Moments of rest seemed earned. During these he
would gaze with glinting eyes back at the gangs and the trains, at
the smoke, dust, and movement; and beyond toward the east.
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