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.His motive in working there, he imagined, wastolay a few rails, drive a few spikes along the last miles of the road that hehadsurveyed.He meant to work this way only a little while, till the rails fromeast met those from west.This profound emotion seemed accompanied by a procession of thoughts, eachthought in turn, like a sun with satellites, reflecting its radiance uponthemand rousing strange, dreamy, full- hearted fancies.Allie lived—asgood, asinnocent as ever, incomparably beautiful—sad-eyed, eloquent, haunting.From thatmighty thought sprang both Neale's exaltation and his activity.He had lovedherso well that conviction of her death had broken his heart, deadened hisPage 231ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlambition, ruined his life.But since, by the mercy of God and the innocencethathad made men heroic, she had survived all peril, all evil, then had begun acolossal overthrow in Neale's soul of the darkness, the despair, the hate,theindifference.He had been flung aloft, into the heights, and he had seen intoheaven.He asked for nothing in the world.All-satisfied, eternally humble,grateful with every passionate drop of blood throbbing through his heart, hededicated all his spiritual life to memory.And likewise there seemed atremendous need in him of sustained physical action, even violence.He turnedtothe last stages of the construction of the great railroad.What fine comrades these hairy-breasted toilers made! Neale had admired themonce; now he loved them.Every group seemed to contain a trio like that onehehad known so well—Casey, Shane, and McDermott.Then he divined thatthese menwere all alike.They all toiled, swore, fought, drank, gambled.Hundreds ofthemwent to nameless graves.But the work went on—the great, driving, unitedheartbeat on.Neale was under its impulse, in another sense.When he lifted a tie and felt the hard, splintering wood, he wondered whereithad come from, what kind of a tree it was, who had played in its shade, howsurely birds had nested in it and animals had grazed beneath it.Between himandthat square log of wood there was an affinity.Somehow his hold upon itlinkedhim strangely to a long past, intangible spirit of himself.He must cling toit,lest he might lose that illusive feeling.Then when he laid it down he feltregret fade into a realization that the yellow-gravel road-bed alsoinspiritedhim.He wanted to feel it, work in it, level it, make it somehow his own.When he strode back for another load his magnifying eyes gloated over thetoilers in action—the rows of men carrying and laying rails, and thesplendidbrawny figures of the spikers, naked to the waist, swinging the heavysledges.The blows rang out spang—spang— spang! Strong music, full ofmeaning! When histurn came to be a spiker, he would love that hardest work of all.The engine puffed smoke and bumped the cars ahead, little by little as thetrackadvanced; men on the train carried ties and rails forward, filling the frontcars as fast as they were emptied; long lines of laborers on the groundpassedto and fro, burdened going forward, returning empty-handed; the rails and theshovels and the hammers and the picks all caught the hot gleam from the sun;thedust swept up in sheets; the ring, the crash, the thump, the scrape of ironandwood and earth in collision filled the air with a sound rising harshly abovethesong and laugh and curse of men.A shifting, colorful, strenuous scene of toil!Gradually Neale felt that he was fitting into this scene, becoming a part ofit,Page 232ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlan atom once more in the great whole.He doubted while he thrilled.Clearlyashe saw, keenly as he felt, he yet seemed bewildered.Was he not gazing out atthis construction work through windows of his soul, once more painted,colored,beautiful, because the most precious gift he might have prayed—for hadbeengiven him—life and hope for Allie Lee?He did not know.He could not think.His comrade, Pat, wiped floods of sweat from his scarlet face."I'll bedomnedif ye ain't a son-of-a-gun fer worrk!" he complained."Pat, we've been given the honor of pace-makers.They've got to keep up withus.Come on," replied Neale."Be gad! there ain't a mon in the gang phwat'll trade fer me honor, thin,"declared Pat."Fri'nd, I'd loike to live till next pay-day,""Come on, then, work up an appetite," rejoined Neale."Shure I'll die.An' I'd loike to ask, beggin' ye're pardon, hevn't ye gotsome Irish in ye?""Yes, a little.""I knowed thot.All roight, I'll die with ye, thin."In half an hour Pat was in despair again.He had to rest."Phwat's—ye're—name?" he queried."Neale.""It ought to be Casey.Fer there was niver but wan loike ye—an' he wasCasey.Mon, ye're sweatin' blood roight now!"Pat pointed at Neale's red, wet shirt.Neale slapped his breast, and drops ofblood and sweat spattered from under his hand."An' shure ye're hands are bladin', too!" ejaculated Pat.They were, indeed, but Neale had not noted that.The boss, Reilly, passing by, paused to look and grin."Pat, yez got some one to kape up with to-day.We're half a mile ahead ofyestidy this time."Then he turned to Neale."I've seen one in yer class—Casey by name.An' thot's talkin'."He went his way.And Neale, plodding on, saw the red face of the great Casey,with its set grin and the black pipe.Swiftly then he saw it as he had heardofit last, and a shadow glanced fleetingly across the singular radiance of hismind.The shrill whistle of the locomotive halted the work and called the men todinner and rest.Instantly the scene changed.The slow, steady, rhythmicmotionsof labor gave place to a scramble back to the long line of cars.Then thehordeof sweaty toilers sought places in the shade, and ate and drank and smokedandrested.As the spirit of work had been merry, so was that of rest, with alwaysadry, grim earnestness in the background.Neale slowed down during the afternoon, to the unconcealed thankfulness ofhispartner.The burn of the sun, the slippery sweat, the growing ache ofmuscles,the never-ending thirst, the lessening of strength—these sensationsimpingedupon Neale's emotion and gradually wore to the front of his consciousness.HisPage 233ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlhands grew raw, his back stiff and sore, his feet crippled.The wound in hisbreast burned and bled and throbbed.At the end of the day he could scarcelywalk.He rode in with the laborers, slept twelve hours, and awoke heavy- limbed,slow,and aching.But he rode out to work, and his second day was one of agony
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