Tom rose eagerly, followed by Harry.  As they left the tent and hurried outside they beheld two rows of men, each before a long bench on which stood agate wash basins.  The toilet preceding the evening meal was on.

“Gentlemen,” Mr. Blaisdell, as the two chums drew near, “I present two new candidates for fame.  One is named Reade, the other Hazelton.  Take them to your hearts, but don’t, at first, teach them all the wickedness you know.  Reade, this is Jack Rutter, the spotted hyena of the camp.  If he ever gets in your way just push him over a cliff.”

A pleasant-faced young man in khaki hastily dried his face and hands on a towel, then smilingly held out his right hand.

“Glad to know you, Reade,” he laughed.  Hope you’ll like us and decide to stay.”

“Hazelton,” continued the announcer, “shake hands with Slim Morris, whether he’ll let you or not.  And here’s Matt Rice.  We usually call him ‘Mister’ Rice, for he’s extremely talented.  He knows how to play the banjo.”

The assistant engineer then turned away, while one young man, at the farther end of the long wash bench stood unpresented.

“Oh, on second thoughts,” continued Blaisdell, “I’ll introduce you to Joe Grant.”

The last young man came forward.

“Joe used to be a good fellow—–­once,” added the assistant engineer.  “In these days, however, you want to keep your dunnage boxes locked.  Joe’s specialty is stealing fancy ties—–­neckties, I mean.”

Joe laughed good-humoredly as he shook hands, adding: 

“We’ll tell you all about Blaisdell himself, boys, one of these days, but not now.  It’s too far from pay day, and old Blaze stands in too thickly with the chief.”

“If you folks don’t come into supper soon,” growled the voice of the cook, Jake Wren, from the doorway of the engineer’s mess tent, “I’ll eat your grub myself.”

“He’d do it, too,” groaned Slim Morris, a young man who nevertheless weighed more than two hundred pounds.  “Blaze, won’t you take us inside and put us in our high chairs?”

There was infinite good humor in this small force of field engineers.  As was afterwards learned, all of them were graduates either of colleges or of scientific schools but not one of them affected any superiority over the young newcomers.

Just as the party had seated themselves there was a step outside, and Bad Pete stalked in looking decidedly sulky.

“Evening,” he grunted, and helped himself to a seat at the table.

“Reade and Hazelton, you’ve had the pleasure of meeting Pete, I believe?” asked Blaisdell, without the trace of a smile.

“Huh!” growled Pete, not looking up, for the first supply of food was on the table.

“We’ve had the pleasure, twice today, of meeting Mr. Peter,” replied Tom, with equal gravity.

“See here, tenderfoot,” scowled Bad Pete, looking up from his plate, “don’t you call me ‘Peter’ again.  Savvy?”