“Better go down and fetch him, boys,” he shouted to the other men.  “I reckon he’s not much the worse, except in temper, and you’ll find a rope a piece back up the track.”

He saw them start and then resumed his journey.  Whether he was hurt or not, Wilkinson could talk, for he was pouring out scurrilous epithets.  Charnock laughed as he stamped through the mud.  His antagonist had got the worst of it, and there was a satisfactory explanation of their quarrel.  They had met on a narrow path and neither would give way, but as Charnock was carrying the load he had put the other in the wrong.  Wilkinson could not revenge himself by circulating the story he had told before because it would interest nobody at the camp, and Charnock’s friendship with Festing would prove it untrue.  In fact, he imagined Wilkinson would think it prudent to leave him alone.

He delivered the bag, and going back stopped at a spot where Festing and some others were fitting the end of a heavy beam into a pole.  Charnock watched while the men dragged out the beam and then replaced it after deepening the hole.  They were splashed and dirty, and presently Festing leaned upon his shovel while he got his breath.

“You seem determined to fix it properly,” Charnock remarked.

Festing nodded.  “There’s no use in piling rock about half-bedded frames.  It would mean trouble if they gave way under a freight train.”

“You look ahead.  The first difficulty is that if the frames don’t hold up, you won’t get paid.  The engineers are responsible after the regular traffic starts, and I’ve no doubt they test a contractor’s work.  You would save something in wages if you built a pile-driver to sink those posts.”

“I haven’t the men or time.  If I don’t get this part of the work done before the frost comes, it’s going to cost me more.  It would mean using powder and making fires to thaw out the ground.”

Charnock agreed and went on.  He had been long enough over his errand and the foreman’s tongue was sharp, but he mused about Festing as he picked his way across the pools between the ties.  Festing’s object was to make money, and he imagined, perhaps foolishly, that he had urgent ground for doing so, but he meant to make a good job.  He felt his responsibility, and apart from this took a curious delight in doing things well.  In fact, Festing’s thoroughness was rather fine; he was an artist in his way.  The artist’s methods, however, were not as a rule profitable when applied to contract work.  Then Charnock’s meditations were rudely disturbed, for he heard a shout and saw the foreman had noted his cautious advance.

“Watch him coming, boys!” the latter remarked.  “Like a blamed cat that’s scared of wetting its pretty feet!  Say, do you want a private car to move you along the track?  Jump now and load up that trolley, you soft-bodied slob!”

Charnock obeyed, promptly and silently.  He had, at first, responded to encouragement of this kind by a witty retort, but had found the consequences unfortunate.  There was no use in wasting delicate satire on a dolt.  Besides, it was a relief to feel he was getting better and was able to work.