Something he had intended to lay
before Peter at the very moment the old fellow had sent him for
Isaac--something he had come all the way to New York to discuss
with him; something that had worried him for days. There was but
half an hour left; then he must get his bag and say good-night and
good-by for another week or more.
Peter noticed the boy's mood and laid his hand on his wrist.
Somehow this was not the same Jack.
"I haven't hurt you, my son, have I?" he asked with a note of
tenderness in his voice.
"Hurt me! You couldn't hurt me, Uncle Peter!" There was no
question of his sincerity as he spoke. It sprang straight from his
heart.
"Well, then, what's the matter?--out with it. No secrets from
blundering old Peter," he rejoined in a satisfied tone.
Jack laughed gently: "Well, sir, it's about the work." It wasn't;
but it might lead to it later on,
"Work!--what's the matter with the work! Anything wrong?" There
was a note of alarm now that made Jack reply hastily:
"No, it will be finished next month: we are lining up the arches
this week and the railroad people have already begun to dump their
cross ties along the road bed.
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