It was not drudgery, and almost until now he had
looked upon all work as that. It was a great game, the greatest game
in the world. He already began to look forward to to-morrow, when he
was to leave the office and go out upon the field of action with Bat
Truxton with an eagerness such as he had felt in the old college days
on the eve of the big Thanksgiving football game. Something of the
spirit which had made old William Conniston the dynamic, forceful man
of business which he had always been, and which had never before
manifested itself in old Conniston's son, suddenly awoke and shook
itself, active, eager, the fighting spirit of a fighting man.
At noon Billy Jordan pushed back his chair and got to his feet,
stretching his arms high over his head.
"Time to eat," he said, picking up his hat. "Coming, Mr. Conniston?"
"And you?" Conniston asked of Garton.
"Oh, me!" laughed Garton. "I don't travel that far. Not until my new
legs come. I had trouble with 'em," he explained. "Had to send 'em
back to Chicago. I'm hoping," with a whimsical smile, "that they don't
get sidetracked with the rest of our stuff on the P. C. & W. Go with
Billy, Conniston. He'll show you where to eat."
He whirled about on his stool, squirmed suddenly over on his stomach,
and lowered himself to the floor. Swinging the leathern-capped stumps
of his legs between his hands, which he placed palm down on the floor,
as a man may swing his body between crutches, he moved with short,
quick jerks into the room where the two cots were.
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