Swan, in a greasy black shirt, was in the engine-room, hard at work, and he was just about to reprimand one of the men when Pilchard came in. Although it was early in May, a spell of precocious heat had taken New York by the throat, and what with the whir of rapidly turning wheels, and the smell of hot machine-oil and perspiring men, there was something filthy and degraded about the atmosphere. Swan suddenly realized this, although it was the only atmosphere he knew anything about. Glancing upward, he saw a little patch of blue sky through the top of one of the grimy windows ... a white cloud sailed past ... and then another ... something akin to longing welled in his heart, something like a wave of despair and hope, a desire to lift himself into a higher and less degraded world.... He looked toward the door and saw Pilchard, and crossing the room, he greeted him warmly and read the contract Pilchard pulled from his pocket. "That's a queer business," said Swan, when he had finished. "How so?" "Man alive, haven't you read what you've signed your name to?" "Certainly I've read it." "And you think you can put the job through in a year?" "Why not?" asked Pilchard, with his "cock-sure" smile. Swan, like every one else, was taken in by this smile, and to convince himself he read the contract again, out loud this time, and in a thoughtful way. Pilchard listened. The contract guaranteed that a railroad covering two hundred and fifty miles, between the city of Mexico and the little seaport of Zacatula, on the Pacific Ocean, would be built and completed in one year's time, work starting on the 25th of June. Docks and freight-elevators were included in the work, and if the tracks were not in fit condition for the trains to run by the date specified, every penny of the very large pay would be forfeited by the builders. A strange contract, indeed! Pilchard, however, as he heard it read, betrayed by no sign that he was as much surprised as Swan. "Well," said Swan, looking up and meeting that "cock-sure" smile, "you think you can do it in a year?" "I'm certain I can." "Of course," Swan continued, not yet convinced, "it's the worst country on earth; full of swamp and yellow fever." "I'll run in a gang of Mexican Indians to lay the ties. They can stand their own climate." "But you'll have to take down some white men, too, good fellows who know the business. You can't be the only man to do the bossing. It'd kill you."