There was nothing melodramatic in his speech or attitude. He was not posing. He spoke of his necessity in the matter-of-fact way in which he had accepted it. It was necessary to earn the sheer essentials of life, in order to get a footing--to get sufficient capital to open up his office again. He would not have borrowed if he could, and a penniless lawyer in New York is in as bad a position as a penniless tramp. Not only was he glad of this opportunity to earn a couple of dollars, but he found pleasure, in spite of the physical strain, in this most elemental of employments. There was something in the act of forcing his shovel into the earth that brought him comfort in the thought that he was beginning in the cleanest of all clean ways. He was earning his first dollar like a pioneer. He was earning it by the literal sweat of his brow. He turned back from Arsdale's astonished expression to his task. "See here, Donaldson," protested the latter excitedly, "this is absurd! You must quit this. I 've money enough--" "And I have n't," interrupted Donaldson heaving a shovel full of moist dirt into the waiting dump cart. Even Arsdale was checked by the expression he caught in Donaldson's eyes. He ventured nothing further, but, bewildered, stood there, dumb a moment, before he remembered his message. "I came out to find you," he managed to speak. "Elaine wants you to come back to lunch." "What?" Donaldson paused in his work and searched Arsdale's face. "What did you say?" he demanded slowly. "Elaine wants you to come back for lunch. She sent me to find you." Arsdale saw Donaldson's lungs expand. He saw every vein in his face throb with new life. He saw him grow before his eyes to the capacity of two men. He saw him step forth from this aching begrimed shell into a new physique as vibrant with fresh strength as a young mountaineer. It was as startling a metamorphosis as though the man had been touched with a magician's wand. "Thank you," answered Donaldson on a deep intake of breath. "I shall be glad to come." "Drop your shovel then and come along now." "No," he replied, as he dug his spade deep into the soil, "I can't quit my job. The whistle blows at noon." At noon! At the seventh noon, the whistle was to blow! He tossed the weight of two ordinary shovelfuls of gravel into the cart as lightly as a child tosses a bean bag. [Illustration: _At noon! At the seventh noon, the whistle was to blow!_] Perceiving the uselessness of further argument Arsdale climbed out to the bank, and, sitting on a big boulder, watched Donaldson with dazed fascination. The foreman passed him once. "May be cracked," he remarked, "but I 'd' take a hundred men, the likes of him." "You could n't find them on two continents," answered Arsdale. The dog made overtures of friendship and he took him on his knee.