In his right mind--the mind of an ambitious young captain of industry
who sees defeat with dishonor staring him in the face--Winton would
have fought all the more desperately for these hindrances. But,
unfortunately, he was no longer an industry captain with an eye single
to success. He was become that anomaly despised of the working
world--a man in love.

"It's no use shutting our eyes to the fact, Jack," said Adams one
evening, when his chief was making ready for his regular descent upon
the Rosemary. "We shall have to put night shifts at work on that
shale-slide if we hope ever to get past it with the rails."

"Hang the shale!" was the impatient rejoinder. "I'm no galley slave."

Adams' slow smile came and went in cynical ripplings.

"It is pretty difficult to say precisely what you are just now. But I
can prophesy what you are going to be if you don't wake up and come
alive."

Having no reply to this, Adams went back to the matter of night
shifts.

"If you will authorize it, I'll put a night gang on and boss it
myself. What do you say?"

"I say you are no end of a good fellow, Morty. And that's the plain
fact. I'll do as much for you some time."