Page:Hopkinson Smith--Tom Grogan.djvu/19

, he saw that the main derrick was at work lowering the buckets of mixed concrete to the divers. Instantly his spirits rose. The delay on his contract might not be so serious. Perhaps, after all, Grogan had started work.

When he reached the temporary wooden fence built by the Government, shutting off the view of the depot yard, with its coal-docks and machine-shops, and neared the small door cut through its planking, a voice rang out clear and strong above the din of the mixers:—

“Hold on, ye wall-eyed macaroni! Do ye want that fall cut? Turn that snatch-block, Cully, and tighten up the watch-tackle. Here, cap'n; lend a hand. Lively now, lively, before I straighten out the hull gang of ye!”

The voice had a ring of unquestioned authority. It was not quarrelsome or abusive or bullying—only earnest and forceful.

“Ease away on that guy! Ease away, I tell ye!” it continued, rising in intensity. “So—all gone! Now, haul out, Cully, and let that other team back up.”

Babcock pushed open the door in the fence and stepped in. A loaded scow lay close be-